


I Have My Freedom (but I don't have much time)

by sierraadeux



Series: I Have My Freedom 'verse [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canada, Artist Phil Lester, Horse Trainer Dan Howell, Horseback Riding, Horses, M/M, Slow-ish burn, Strangers to Lovers, or Cowboy Dan, or Rancher Dan, whatever you please, yes this is basically a Heartland au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23932882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierraadeux/pseuds/sierraadeux
Summary: Phil just wants to get away. To clear his mind of everything and reconnect with a long-lost passion. A certain horse and the rancher who comes to his aid have other ideas though - filling Phil's mind, and his sketchbook, with brown eyes and charcoal dotted freckles.He only has the summer. And he's not here to make friends, human or equine.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Series: I Have My Freedom 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982024
Comments: 188
Kudos: 182





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I say this a lot, but this is truly my _most_ self-serving fic I've ever written. Horses....and dnp.....incredibly loosely based on heartland??? It's the story I've always wanted to write, was always destined to write, and here we are.  
> Also I should mention that the tag suggestion of "alternate universe - canada" had me rolling on the floor for a full ten minutes so I decided I had to include that tag specifically. Canada is truly an alternate universe friends.

The funny thing about mental breakdowns - or more gently put, quarter life crises - is that one day you’re hunched over a computer in a stuffy office cubicle powering through your second day of no sleep to get an assignment done, and the next you’re standing in the middle of a cottage somewhere far out in the foothills of the rocky mountains. 

Phil all but threw a dart at a map. A three A.M. Google spiral with keywords _idyllic, moderately remote,_ and most importantly _very, very far away from London_ leading him to this exact location. A small town in Western Canada, an unknown blip situated in some of the most incredible landscapes Phil’s ever seen. Remote enough that Phil can only see trees and water instead of noisy, nosy neighbors and sky-rise buildings. But not _too_ remote with the small, quaint town center a quick drive up the road, and the city of Calgary just under an hour’s drive away. 

Not being totally cut off from the outside world eases the anxiety. Phil toyed with the idea of going completely off the grid, but he decided a bit of connection would do him good. _Hell,_ his cottage does have wifi and cell service, slow as it may be, so he’s not quite cut off at all. But it’s still different. Scary. New. 

And that’s exactly what Phil wants. A resolution to try new things while rekindling a love once lost. Phil is out of his element, out of his comfort zone, and that’s exactly what he wants. He thinks it’s what he needs. 

His mum thought he was out of his mind. He gently reminded her that he probably, definitely is and that’s the entire point. His brother told him he’ll keep his spare room open, ready for when Phil comes running back in a week. Phil saved his breath, he won’t be coming back - at least, not until the end of the summer. He’s seeing this through. For once in his life, he’s seeing something that he wants to do for himself through. 

His father didn’t have much to say, but the look in his eyes as the rest of his family yelled, cried, and rolled their eyes said more than any words. He understands wanting to seize the moment, living life before it passes you right by in a way the others don’t. That almost was enough to make Phil stay, his father truly _getting_ him for the first time in a long time. 

Maybe Phil’s doing this for him too. Running away from his life in England just to paint some bald eagles might not be as selfish as everyone says it is. That’s what Phil would like to believe, at least. It makes him feel a bit better about it. 

The floor creaks underfoot as Phil tosses his car keys on the wooden dining table situated between the small kitchen and lounge space in the cottage. The house itself is all of three rooms: a small bathroom, bedroom, and the open kitchen-living space. The word is small, because it is incredibly small - probably smaller than his London flat - but Phil finds comfort in it. Not cramped, but cozy. 

He’s surrounded by the same dark wood as the trees just out the window. The walls, the floors, and the furniture all constructed from the warm, knotty wood. It’s definitely not modern or sleek, the complete opposite from the white walls and harsh angles of the architecture he’s more used to back at home. There’s even one of those real wood burning stoves in the corner of the main room. The landlord casually mentioned to him that there’s a few tools in the shed, an axe for chopping wood if the pile out back got low. He had nodded, thanking her once again for the hospitality and renting the place out to the British weirdo that inquired about the place over the phone and put a deposit down fifteen minutes later, but now he just laughs as he looks out the window at the shed he’s parked his blue rental sedan next to. 

For one, it’s quickly rolling from spring to summer - with it comes longer days and a warming sun that Phil is definitely not used to. He’s grateful for the old box air conditioner unit that’s currently shoved in one of the two windows in the bedroom, rattling away as it blows blessed cool air through the small home. He almost didn’t know what it was when he first arrived the previous day, staring at it with a quirked brow as a bead of sweat dripped from his temple. But then he turned the dial on the front panel and cooling air sputtered out the rectangular vent, reminding Phil that air conditioning units are indeed a thing. He’ll remember that next summer when he’s back in the inevitable heatwave in a flat with no air-con - that is, if he’s even back in London next summer. 

Which, he will be. Definitely. 

So firstly, Phil knows he’ll be getting more use out of the rattly air conditioner than the wood burning stove this summer. And secondly, Phil should, under no circumstances, ever wield an axe. That’s about seventeen different disasters waiting to happen. Phil might be embracing new things and acting impulsively lately, but he knows better to tempt fate like that. 

He will, probably, have to drive out to the town’s petrol station to fill a canister for the old push mower in the shed. Maybe he’ll put the hoe and a few of the other gardening tools to good use as well. But the axe? That can stay right where it is. 

Phil makes the two steps into the kitchen and sets his bag of groceries and art supplies down on the counter. As much as he wants to dig into his new supplies - traveling light with his more important and valued items after selling off or storing the rest of his possessions - he unloads his groceries first. Just a few staples, including but not limited to: two cartons of a suspicious looking brand of lactose free milk and four boxes of an incredibly off brand version of his favorite cereal. He’s going to have to learn to embrace the tiny grocery store in town that’s really more of a general store than anything else. And maybe he’ll even learn to cook this summer, with the plethora of farm fresh produce they stock, in lieu of his creature comforts of endless delivery and boxes upon boxes of Crunchy Nut. 

He’ll also have to embrace just the kind of place this is - being in town for all of an hour to get art supplies and grocery shop and already having the employee in the tiny art store greet him with a _“Well isn’t it the new guy from Britain himself!”_ after a brief awkward encounter with the only employee at the grocery store. Everyone knows everyone around here, there’s no anonymity like in the city. Even when you’re renting basically a cabin in the middle of the woods, apparently. 

It’ll be an adjustment, that’s for sure. But that’s what he’s here for. He reminds himself, yet again, as he steps back out into the idealistic daydream that is now his front - and back, and all sides - garden with his art supplies, new and old, in tow. 

The little house is settled between dense trees and a winding river. Just beyond the trees behind the cottage is a large hilly meadow that looks as though it goes on forever, a sea of varying shades of green and yellow. Phil isn’t sure who owns that land, he’s not one for small talk and his new landlord didn’t mention if it was hers or not, but it’s dotted with bale after bale of what Phil assumes is hay - so he’s not entirely alone out here. He hasn’t seen another person out by the cottage yet, but that small sign of life is comforting. 

To Phil’s left is the dirt road that eventually turns to gravel, and then pavement as it leads out to a road that eventually leads to a main road. His landlord made a passing comment after he followed her car out here the previous day that the road just before the main road only leads to some ranch, but not to bother as it isn’t used by much of anyone besides the rancher. Besides his clients who use a different entrance, he keeps to himself. Whatever that means. Phil may be the kind of person that holds a cup to his door to hear his neighbors' drama back in his London flat, but he isn’t one to full on gossip with strangers, so he didn’t ask for clarification. All he gathered is that his only neighbor is now separated by acres and acres of land, further than he can see with all of the trees, and that’s all he needs to know. 

Just ahead of him, probably only fifty meters or so, is the riverbank. It’s more of a stream than a real river at this end though, gently bubbling along until it opens up to the real deal way further down. Phil hasn’t gotten his feet wet yet, but it doesn’t look like it could possibly be much deeper than up to his knees. The other side of the water leads out to more and more trees. And in the distance, peeking out just beyond the tips of the trees and going up into the clouds, are the mountains. 

The river, the pine trees, the mountains - Phil feels the spark of inspiration that’s been missing for far too long finally return. Out of the pile of canvases he bought and left stacked up on the porch, he grabs a large one and tucks it under his arm. He drags his new easel with him, just a few long strides away from the house, and drops his supplies in the grass to set it up - already framing the perfect scene. 

With nothing but the babbling stream and the birdsongs from the trees accompanying him, Phil swipes paint against canvas for the first time in ten years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiii so she's alive? yes i think i might be? i hope you guys enjoy this even a smidge as much as i am. i've been very blocked and weird feeling lately with all that's been going on in the world and writing this has actually come easy, giving me a much needed escape so i thought i'd start sharing it with yall as well. <3  
> come angrily bug me about posting another wip on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sierraadeux) or [tumblr](https://lespritdelester.tumblr.com/) if you so please


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi just wanted to give a heads up that there's a brief gun mention in this chapter it's more so in a yeehaw country way made in passing but as that can be something i'm sensitive about i didn't feel comfy posting without a disclaimer so yeah! feel free to come drop me a line if ur on the fence about reading and you don't mind a spoiler or two!

Phil is in the zone - hunched over a bit with his nose all but pressed to wet canvas as he adds tiny branches to his trees in a deep forest green - when he feels something at his shoulder. He doesn’t stop his dabbing at little trees, chalking it down to a gust of wind, but then he feels it again. A more insistent pushing for it to be any breeze, no matter how strong. 

Phil whips around, his tiny paintbrush in a shaking hand wielded like a weapon at whatever just nudged his shoulder. 

Which is… a horse. 

“A horse?” Phil says aloud, his voice going up an octave as he backs away, almost knocking into his painting. The horse snorts. Phil watches in fear as it lifts a hoof and drops it back against the grass. 

Phil doesn’t stick around long enough to find out what that means. Be it a challenge, getting ready to charge, all of the above. He darts around the horse, giving it a wide berth as he, _maybe_ , screams a bit. He slams the screen and wooden front doors closed tight the second he makes it over the threshold of the house. He peers out the window at his unexpected visitor as he tries to catch his breath. 

That's a thing. Phil is absolutely petrified of horses. 

They’re too big. Too scary. He doesn’t trust them. They have that look in their eyes - suspicious. 

The big scary horse in question grazes lazily without a care in the world. It’s mostly a dark, shiny black color, with big splotches of white all over. It’s kind of pretty, Phil muses, if it weren’t a big scary death machine. 

Once he can breathe without feeling like his heart is going to jump right up and out of his throat, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and waits - and waits and waits - for the slow connection to load. 

He’s laughed at, because of course he is, animal control thinking it’s a prank call. “ _Sir, you are aware this is wild horse country?”_ repeated far too many times to an insistent and terrified Phil, until he’s finally pushed off the phone with another phone number scribbled down on the notepad stuck to the fridge. 

Horse fear apparently trumps phone anxiety, and Phil is quick to dial the number he was given the second the line goes dead. He peers out the kitchen window as the phone rings. The spotted horse grazes at the grass where Phil was standing a mere few minutes earlier. 

“Hullo,” the voice on the other line gives Phil a start. Fear making him jumpy. “Triple H Ranch, this is Howell speaking.” 

Phil clears his throat. “Hi, um, animal control gave me your number. Said you could help about a horse?” 

“Oh! Where? What’s going on?” the man on the other end, Howell apparently, rushes out with a sense of urgency. “Is there a hurt horse? Horses?” 

“No, no,” Phil shakes his head even though he’s well aware Howell can’t see him. “Er- no hurt horses.” 

There’s a sigh of relief on the other end. Then, a slower, “Oh. Sorry, they usually only dump emergencies on me. So what seems to be the problem? Spooky horse? Performance issues?”

“I don’t,” Phil shakes his head. “I don’t have performance issues.” 

There’s a loud snort, followed by what sounds like a muffled cackle on the other end. But Phil doesn’t pay it any mind, continuing on his babbling. 

“I don’t know what a spooky horse is. It’s not Halloween, but this one,” Phil peers out the window. “It looks kind of like a cow.” 

“A cow, huh?” Howell doesn’t muffle his loud cackle this time. 

“Are you laughing at me? Don’t laugh at me, there’s a beast in my garden!” 

“Oh so you’re calling about a _beast_ now? Or a cow?” Howell gets out between huffs of laughter. “I’m sorry, I only work with horses.” 

“There’s a big, scary horse in my garden and I want it gone,” Phil all but whines, his voice going a bit desperate as he watches the horse walk along in front of his house, still grazing like it’s not plotting to murder Phil like Phil _knows_ it is. 

“Woah, woah. Okay. Calm down,” the teasing tone in Howell’s voice has vanished, “don’t go shooting at it. Give me your address and I’ll be right over.” 

“I don’t- I wouldn’t… I don’t have a gun,” Phil mutters before rattling off his new address. Which, isn’t really an address and more like a general location that Phil isn’t sure is useful at all. But the man on the other line seems to recognize it, telling Phil he’ll be there in a few minutes, urging him again to not shoot the horse. 

Phil’s still holding the disconnected phone to his ear as he watches the horse out the window. Sure he’s petrified of them and he doesn’t want this big scary beast in his garden, but he couldn’t imagine hurting an animal like that. He’s a bit put out that this Howell horse guy thinks that he would. 

As he waits, Phil dares to open the front door. He leaves the screen door firmly latched shut, but his eyes flick between the dirt path of a road to the side of the house and the unsuspecting horse that’s still only about a meter away from the porch with his nose pressed to the screen. There’s a slight tremble that goes down his spine and through his hands every few seconds, but he does feel better in the safety of the house. The warm breeze coming through the screen calms him as much as the knowledge that someone’s on the way to get rid of the beast does. 

He isn’t left waiting long. The low rumble and clanging of the approaching vehicle is heard before it’s seen, Phil turning his head to watch it come down the path. The rattling, clanging sound makes sense as the black truck comes into view with a bright red, beat up looking horse trailer hitched to the back of it. 

A head pops out of the open window as it pulls to a stop, parallel to Phil’s rental car. 

“Not wild, huh? Doesn’t mind the truck at all, I was sure that’d get ‘em on its way.” The guy, Howell, isn’t looking at Phil. He barely seems to even be directing the words at him, his gaze never leaving the unbothered horse as he hops out of the truck. But the way he’s throwing his voice towards Phil makes it seem like he is, in fact, not just talking to himself or the horse. 

Phil doesn’t say anything in response as the other man slowly walks towards the horse. It feels like the quiet is necessary, a hush falling over the wooded clearing. 

The horse merely flicks its ear a few times, picking its head up to look at the new human, then over at Phil. 

Phil jumps, a squeak involuntarily leaving his throat as the horse looks at him. He hears a snort. It isn’t the horse this time. 

“Hi…” Howell stops his advances to peer over at the door. “What are you doing in there? You wanna come on out?” 

Phil shakes his head fervently, jamming a finger into the screen to point at the horse. 

“Alright, okay.” Howell raises a hand. “I’ll take care of the big scary beast.” 

“Shut up,” Phil mutters under his breath, crossing his arms like a put-out toddler. The other man laughs as he starts to approach the horse again, only making Phil feel more put-out. But he can’t be too upset, he knows it is a bit ridiculous to be this scared of a horse in a place like this.

He can’t help his fears, as irrational as they may be. 

Phil doesn’t think they’re irrational at all, horses are terrifying. He tries to not let that stance falter as he watches Howell approach the animal, the horse completely unbothered - not biting or kicking or putting up any kind of fuss. It even walks towards him as he clicks his tongue a few times - not charging or stampeding like Phil would think - simply walking a few tentative steps forward until Howell is able to reach out a hand for it to sniff. 

It looks almost… gentle as the horse pushes its nose against Howell’s outstretched hand. From the door Phil can see Howell’s mouth turning up into a wide smile, the sun shining on a dimple that pokes into his cheek with the expression. Phil watches as he pats at the horse’s face a few times before slowly and gently lifting the bright red item in his hand and slipping it around its head. 

“Good boy,” Howell coos softly, rubbing between the horse’s eyes with the hand that isn’t holding to the long rope connected to the halter that he just got the horse into. “Someone must be missing you, huh? What are you doing out here, scaring the city-folk, hm?” 

The horse presses its head into Howell’s shoulder and Howell laughs, loudly and unrestricted up into the trees. Phil can’t help but think it sounds so much warmer than it did over the phone. 

“Alright, okay. Let’s get you home,” Howell huffs. Phil is flashed that wide smile, full on as Howell turns to walk the horse towards the trailer. 

“Big scary beast is contained, fair maiden,” he directs at Phil this time, dropping his head in a mock bow. Phil doesn’t miss the wink before the other man disappears behind the truck. 

Phil can’t tell if he likes or hates this man, to be quite honest. 

Howell doesn’t leave once he’s got the horse in the trailer, he re-emerges from the other side and makes his way right towards the house. 

With the horse firmly - at least Phil hopes - locked away, he finds the courage to unlatch the screen door, stepping out onto the porch with his hands shoved into his jean pockets at a funny angle. 

“People don’t really shoot at them, right? The wild horses here,” Phil asks as the other man’s boots clunk against the wooden stairs. 

Howell hums, a dimple indenting in his cheek even with a frown. 

“Yeah well. Not everyone is so fond of the horses,” he says with a shrug as he stops in front of Phil. “Hey, you’re the city boy renting from Maureen?” he holds out his hand. “I’m Dan. Daniel Howell of Howell’s Horse Healing.”

Phil nods as he eyes Dan’s hand. “Phil. Lester. Of… London, I guess?” 

“Are you asking or telling?” Dan winks. Phil stutters. 

With less fear involved, Phil notes that Dan’s voice is decidedly not Canadian. Nor is it American. In fact, it’s not too far off from Phil’s own. Maybe a bit more Southern, posh to Phil’s Northern drawl, but it’s definitely the same accent. 

There’s a lot of things that Phil notices, now that Dan is standing in front of him, no terrifying horse or screen door between them. 

He has a dimple in each cheek as he smiles at Phil and takes his hand. Dan’s hand is big and warm, but his grip isn’t bone-crushing like most handshakes Phil has had to endure in his lifetime. It’s almost gripped with the same gentle nature as Phil saw him have with the horse. 

There’s a wild mop of curly brown hair on the top of his head, shorter at the sides in a similar fashion to Phil’s. Dan pushes a few stray curls back with the hand he takes from Phil once they’ve had a quick shake. He leaves a smudge of dust or dirt on his forehead with the movement, and Phil bites his tongue so he doesn’t laugh. 

Before Phil can think twice, he swipes his eyes down. Dan’s skin is sun-kissed - a smattering of freckles under his eyes, and a few peeking out from the sleeves of his black tee shirt on his arms. He’s wearing dark jeans as well, and Phil briefly wonders about the sanity of someone that would wear black head to toe even in the beginnings of summer. 

Well, maybe not _all_ black. Phil looks up from Dan’s brown, dirt caked boots, only to be met with a smirk on his pink lips. Phil won’t be stubborn enough to deny that horse guy is hot, but that’s really not what he’s here for. 

“Well, I’ll take this guy off your hands. I don’t think he’s wild with that good of temperament and being so quick to trust. I mean he just walked right into the trailer,” Dan says as he looks back over to his truck with a thoughtful smile.

He looks back to Phil, “Someone’s definitely missing him, so thanks for calling me.”

“Uh yeah,” Phil scratches at the back of his neck. He’s not sure why he doesn’t really want this man to leave. There’s no good reason for the passing thought, he should be begging for him to go - to take that horse away. “Thank you for coming out.” 

“Oh, I’m not even far. I own the ranch just that way,” Dan points down the dirt road. “I’m not used to having neighbors since Maureen moved out of this old place and decided to rent it out, but uh… if you need anything, horse or otherwise, city boy,” Dan starts to step backwards, stepping down the three porch steps with ease. “Feel free to ring me.” 

Phil nods, his heart in his throat for the second time that day, for a completely different reason. He waves as Dan steps back into his truck, giving Phil a two fingered salute before ducking into the cabin of the truck and making a quick, expert turn around and back onto the dirt road. Phil shivers as a patch of black and white flashes through the cut-out of the red trailer doors as he watches Dan leave. 

Phil and horses…yeah. That’s a combination that will never jive. 

For some reason - Phil isn’t sure why - the three off white H’s on the back of the trailer remain in the back of his mind for the remainder of the day.


	3. Chapter 3

In hindsight, taking a break in the form of laying down in the sunny patch of grass next to his easel isn’t the best idea when you live in the woods basically in the middle of nowhere. One moment, Phil is squinting up at the sun, closing his eyes to appreciate the warm rays on his face without his eyes starting to water, and the next he’s fast asleep. 

Hours pass like minutes, mostly attributed to the lack of sleep Phil’s been getting. Even the constant sputtering of the air conditioner in Phil’s cottage window doesn’t break up the silence like car horns and sirens do. He never thought that’s something he could miss, maybe it’s karma for all the times he would bang on the shared wall between his and his neighbors' flat whenever they’d wake him up with a power drill or obnoxiously loud sex at five in the morning. 

He’ll get used to the quiet, he hopes. He has all summer. Phil’s never been that great at sleeping in new environments anyway, so the sleepless nights come as no surprise. 

Though what does come as a surprise, is the way he’s out like a light the second his eyes shut, nothing more but a warm orange behind his lids and soft grass tickling at the back of his neck. 

There’s also soft grass tickling at his cheek, Phil hums as it pulls him out of his sleep. He stretches in the grass, a few joints popping in that satisfying way as he squeezes his eyes shut tighter - relishing a few more moments of his warm, sleepy state. 

The grass tickling at his cheek… sneezes? There’s a huff of air, then the splattering of some sort of moisture on Phil’s face, and his eyes shoot open. The sun is no longer beating into his retinas. Instead he’s met with a large dark nose. The horse huffs again, another blast of warm air and moisture to Phil’s face and Phil is scrambling up and away at a speed he wasn’t even sure was possible for his long, clumsy limbs. 

A mantra of “ _no, no, no, nope, no”_ leaving Phil’s lips carry up to the treetops as he bolts all the way through the front door of his cottage, swinging the screen door firmly shut with shaking hands and looking on at his attacker. 

The black and white spotted horse remains where Phil left him, his tail swishing to flick off the flies making a home on his backside, completely unbothered by Phil’s fearful shouting. His big head turns, and Phil swears he looks him right in the eye for a moment, blinking then bowing his head back down to graze at the grass Phil was just asleep in. 

With hands still shaking, Phil fishes his phone out of his jeans pocket. He’s grateful that it didn’t slide out in his sleep or his rush to get up, so that it’s in his hand and not in the grass by the murder horse. 

Phil has no basis to believe that the horse is actually a murderer, but with the way he was just inches away from Phil’s face, ready to taste Phil’s skin, he can never be too cautious. 

He wipes at his damp face with the back of his hand as he dials the last number in his recent calls, holding the phone up to his ear as he busies himself with the debate if it’s considered cannibalism or not if a horse eats a human so he doesn’t think about the snot - or drool, or whatever it is - that’s all over his face. 

“Triple H Ranch, this is Howell speaking.” 

“Dan. Hi,” Phil rushes out, completely breathless, while Dan’s voice is still in his ear. “Horse. Back. Gonna eat me.” 

“What?” Dan’s voice is starkly calm in comparison to Phil’s jumble of anxious words. “Phil? What are you…” There’s a creak and a slam of a door on the other line as Dan trails off. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Dan swears, but it’s followed by a light chuckle. The sound almost eases Phil’s rapid breathing and the pulling in his chest. “Yeah, alright city boy, I’ll come right over.”

“The horse isn’t going to eat you by the way. Not unless you have carrots in your pockets,” he adds with another laugh.

“Wha-” Phil starts to panic, but is stopped by the distinct sound of the other line going dead. 

It’s just Phil’s uneven breathing and the horse now. He pockets his phone and looks back out the screen door, the horse carelessly nosing at Phil’s canvas that has, at some point, fallen face down flat in the grass. 

“Great,” Phil mutters to himself. 

“I hate you,” he says a bit louder, directed at the offender in his front garden. The horse’s head shoots right up, causing Phil to jump back with a, _definitely manly,_ squeak. He looks at Phil, somehow right in the eye again, as if he could hear Phil and also understand english. He almost looks… offended. 

“I’m sorry,” Phil squeaks. The horse huffs, shaking his head, then drops it back to the grass - nosing at Phil’s canvas again like he was never scolded. Phil grips at the handle of the screen door, holding it shut tightly even though he’s already clicked the lock, praying that either the horse runs off, far away, or Dan Howell gets there soon. 

Phil’s watching the dirt pathway that leads out to the main road so intently, that he almost jumps right out of his skin when he hears a soft “ _Boo!”_ from the other direction. Holding his hand to his heart, Phil turns to see Dan emerging through the trees. Much to Phil’s dismay, on a horse no less, trotting right up to the trespasser in front of Phil’s house. 

The horse he’s on is big, somehow even taller than the massive black and white horse that’s now perked up at the incoming company. It’s a deep chestnut brown color, fully decked out in a worn, but ornate looking black saddle with silver details that glint in the light. Dan waves at Phil - who is still hiding behind the door - with one hand while the other pulls up on the black reins. He hums a low “ _ooh”_ and his horse comes to a slow stop, sniffing around the other horse before they both drop their heads and bump noses together as they graze at the grass. 

Phil can’t help but stare as Dan dismounts, he lands on the ground with such an effortless ease and pats his hands against his thighs to dust off the light, worn jeans he’s wearing. There’s still a healthy dose of black on him though. He’s wearing a similar black tee shirt to the one Phil saw him in the previous week, and he adjusts the black cowboy hat on his head before leaving his horse to graze and walking over to Phil.

Dan looks… like a real cowboy. The sight alone makes Phil smile, easing his fear of there now being _two_ horses a few steps away from him - if only for a couple of seconds. Before coming here, Phil didn’t think cowboys really existed outside of old Westerns and television shows set in Texas. It's hard not to laugh. 

“I think he likes you.” Phil is pulled out of his musings by Dan’s voice, the other man’s boots clunking against Phil’s porch steps. 

“What?” 

“The horse,” Dan turns his head back to look at the two horses behind him. “I think he likes you. He’s been jumping fences all week,” Dan sighs, “I should’ve known he was trying to come back here when I kept finding him in the North field.” 

“He doesn’t like me,” Phil shakes his head. “He _likes_ to torment me.” 

Dan laughs at that, looking back to Phil with crinkles at the corner of each eye. He makes the few steps forward until he’s right up at the screen door, the barrier feeling nonexistent when they’re this close together. 

Dan squints at Phil, his head cocking ever so slightly to the side. “You have a sunburn.” Dan taps at his own nose, then lifts his hand to hold the brim of his hat, “Probably should get one of these if you’re gonna be spending any time out here, city boy.” 

“I forgot to reapply my sunscreen,” Phil frowns as he experimentally pushes a finger against his nose, properly feeling the burn now. “I fell asleep in the grass and that beast,” Phil narrows his eyes as he looks past Dan, “woke me up trying to eat my face off!”

Dan rolls his eyes, shaking his head with an incredulous smile on his face. 

“Looks like he was looking out for your pasty ass,” Dan quips before blinking a few times, seemingly gathering his thoughts as Phil continues to pout - his arms crossed against his chest. 

“I just got in from a ride when you rang. Thought I’d pony him back, but if you fancy a ride you can take Cap if you want. He’s nice and gentle. C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Dan flashes a bright smile, his eyes going round and wide like a puppy dog. 

“The brown one?” Phil’s eyes are wide, for a completely different reason, as he looks past Dan at the horses. “He’s even _bigger_.” 

“Oh, come on he’s a sweetheart.” 

“Absolutely not,” Phil shakes his head again, “I don’t ride horses.” 

Dan frowns, looking between the horses, then back at Phil with a sigh. “Suit yourself, you’re missing out on a fun time.” 

Phil holds his ground, even if warm brown eyes are threatening to break his resolve. 

“Why don’t you come on out and say hi at least?” Dan asks after a beat. Phil’s head is basically at a constant back and forth movement at this point. 

Dan laughs, putting his hand out on the screen door handle. “Come on scaredy cat, they’re not going to bite.” 

“You don’t know that,” Phil protests. He ignores Dan giving him a look that says _“I absolutely do”_ without having to say the words.

“What if they think my fingers are tasty baby carrots,” Phil holds up a hand and wiggles his fingers for emphasis. 

Dan hoots out an absolute cackle of a laugh, the noise so loud both of the horses behind him lift up their heads, flicking their ears as they watch Dan grip at his stomach. Phil joins them, his fearful frown twitching up into a small smile. 

He can’t help that Dan’s laugh is just as beautiful as he is. 

“They won’t nibble your fingers, city boy,” Dan rolls his eyes once he’s somewhat contained his laughter. 

Against his better judgement, Phil clicks the lock on the screen door and slowly pushes it open. Dan’s brows pull up in surprise, but his smile stays wide as he steps aside to let Phil open the door completely and step out onto the wooden porch tentatively. 

“Are you...” Phil starts in a small voice, looking over Dan’s shoulder at the horses with wide eyes. “Are you sure he’s not going to like… charge at me and eat my face?” Phil eyes the black and white horse, freely roaming alongside Dan’s horse. 

Dan honks a laugh again, but then his face goes a bit softer. 

“Moon’s been nothing but a sweetheart,” he says as he turns and leaves Phil with his feet bolted firmly to the porch, “but if it makes you feel better I’ll hold onto him.” 

Phil watches as Dan approaches the horses, walking right up to the brown horse without a care and procuring a rope from the side of his saddle. Dan walks a bit slower with the lead in his hand, stepping over to the other horse with a similar low hum coming from his throat that Phil can barely hear. The horse barely bats an eye, lifting his head up to look at Dan, letting him grab onto the side of the halter on his face with ease. Dan clips the rope to it and turns back to Phil, lifting the rope with one brow raised high - a smirk on his face. 

Phil takes a breath, and before he can think twice about it he takes a few tentative steps on slightly shaky legs towards Dan. 

“Moon?” he asks, looking directly in Dan’s eyes so he doesn’t look at the horses and turn right back around running. For some reason, he doesn’t want to make a complete fool of himself in front of this man - even though he’s probably done way more than enough of that already. 

Dan huffs and looks down at his boots. Phil’s inclined to think the red blossoming on his cheeks isn’t from the afternoon sun as he looks back up at Phil with a bashful expression. He focuses on that, on the small red patch that shows up on the side of Dan’s jaw, as he keeps stepping forward. 

“Oh,” Dan laughs, “Well I haven’t found his owner yet, and I needed to call him _something_ …” Dan lifts a hand to pat at the horse’s neck, Phil’s eyes flicking away from his for the first time since he started walking over. His breath catches as he realizes how close he’s gotten. 

“I kept thinking about you calling him a _cow_ ,” Dan snorts as the horse whinnies. Phil jumps back with the sound. “It’s okay, I’ve got him,” Dan coos in the same tone that he uses with the horses, but this time it’s directed at Phil. Phil looks back over at Dan, at the soft expression on his face with his strong grip on the lead rope held up for Phil to see, and nods - his hands shaking as he steps forward again. 

“So yeah. I found myself calling him Moo, and then I felt like that wasn’t much of a dignified name for a horse so I went with Moon instead.” 

Phil laughs at that. “I don’t like horses, but I’d say that’s a pretty perfect name for him.” 

“You don’t like horses,” Dan tuts, “yet here you are.” 

Phil groans. “Don’t remind me.” 

“How is this friendship going to work then, if you don’t like horses?” 

“I,” Phil shakes his head, “I am _not_ becoming friends with this horse. I am simply saying hi so you’d stop giving me those puppy dog eyes.” 

“I wasn’t talking about you and the horse,” Dan says. Phil feels a swooping in his chest, it must be the fear now that he’s managed to take himself only a few steps away from the big black and white horse. 

“I didn’t come here to make friends,” Phil replies softly, looking down at his feet. His bright white trainers, now stained a bit green from the grass with all the time he’s been spending outside, are almost toe to toe with Dan’s scuffed, muddy brown boots. 

“Oh yeah,” Dan huffs in a small voice, “Yeah, okay. That’s quite alright.” Then, not missing a beat in a louder, brighter voice he asks, “So do you want to give him a pat?” 

Phil’s head snaps up to Dan gesturing to the horse, patting at his neck himself. 

“N-no,” Phil shakes his head with wide eyes. “No thank you.” 

“Aw, come on. You’ll like it!” 

“I will not!” 

“Here,” Dan shoves a hand in his jeans pocket, procuring a lumpy brown square. Phil startles, stepping back again when Moon’s head whips over. Phil watches as Dan looks him right in the eye, holding his hand out for the horse to take the treat from it.

After Moon has snuffled all of the treat off of Dan’s hand Dan holds his hand up towards Phil, wiggling his fingers just as Phil did behind the screen door a few minutes prior. 

“See? Still have all my digits,” Dan says with a smirk. “Get over here,” he adds, softly. Phil doesn’t know why, but he steps forward. Dan sticks his hand in his pocket again and grabs Phil’s hand once he’s dug out another treat. 

He holds Phil’s hand gently, dropping the treat in his palm. Dan doesn’t let go and Phil is grateful for it, especially since Moon is interested again. Instead, he slides his hand under Phil’s and pulls Phil’s fingers out from the shaking claw they’re forming. Dan holds Phil’s hand flat in his own and Phil pulls his eyes away from them to look back up at Dan. 

Dan’s already looking right at him, a soft smile contradicts the quite intense look in his eyes. 

“Ready?” Dan asks. 

“No.” 

Dan laughs, then he makes a little kissing noise and a dark nose comes between them. Phil stiffens, his heart in his throat as he squeezes his eyes shut. Ready for his hand to be bitten right off as Dan holds him in place. 

But there’s no blood or screams of terror. And definitely no missing limbs. There’s actually, a really gentle, soft tickling at his palm as Dan’s coos fill his ears. Phil isn’t sure if Dan is cooing to the horse, or to him, but it calms his rapidly beating heart regardless.

It’s… nice. A horse is licking a treat out of Phil’s hand and it’s nice. 

Phil even giggles at the tickle of it, the horse eating the treat while Dan’s thumb rubs slowly back and forth against the side of Phil’s hand. 

He knew there would be a lot of unknowns with this move, but this absolutely wasn’t something he signed up for. 

“You can open your eyes,” Dan says softly, squeezing at Phil’s hand. It’s only then that he realizes there’s no longer a soft tickle at his palm, and he cracks open an eye to see Dan smiling softly, holding Phil’s hand as Moon bobs his head a few times next to him. 

“Do you want to give him a pat?” Dan asks again and Phil bites his lip. Before Phil can say anything, shake his head, or run away, Dan grips his hand more firmly. He slowly moves it towards the horse’s head, giving Phil more than enough time to pull away.

Phil doesn’t pull away. He watches as Dan presses his hand between Moon’s eyes - focusing on the blue paint splattered all over his fingers, the dirt on Dan’s, the soft feeling under his hand as it pets at the short hair, the warm feeling of Dan’s palm pressed over the back of his hand. 

Once again, it’s nice. 

“I’m petting a horse,” Phil gasps. 

“You’re petting a horse,” Dan laughs softly. 

“It’s nice,” Phil looks at the horse and jumps a bit as he blows air from his nose and shakes his head a little, but he doesn’t run or pull away. “I’m still not getting on one,” he looks back to Dan with wide eyes. “Ever.”

“Alright, city boy,” Dan hums, a smug smile on his mouth. Dan’s horse whinnies from next to him and he laughs when Phil jumps again. “Alright to you too,” Dan scrunches his nose at the bigger, brown horse as he drops Phil’s hand. 

He turns back to Phil, “We should probably be getting along.” 

Phil nods. “Thanks again, for coming by.” 

“For rescuing you?” Dan teases as he effortlessly heaves himself back up on his horse. Phil shakes his head with a bashful smile, Dan paying him no mind, too busy tying the lead rope to the horse he’s on. 

And with that, a tip of the cowboy hat on his head, and a “S _ee you around_ ” Dan and the two horses are back trotting off between the trees. Left standing in the grassy patch in front of his cottage, alone once again, Phil frowns down at the canvas that’s still face down in the grass. 

He sighs and walks over to it, saying a small prayer to whoever’s listening that it’s salvageable before squatting down to pick it back up. 


	4. Chapter 4

The patter of rain slowly starts just as Phil is patting the last bit of dirt around the flowers he’s planting. With muddy knees and a sense of accomplishment as he sits back on his heels and surveys the small garden he’s been working on the past few days - taking a break from his painting - he decides it’s time to head in. 

With the rain picking up, and Phil shaking the crumbs of his last box of cereal into a bowl with no milk for breakfast that morning, he reckons it’s as good of a time as ever to head into town. He could use a few more art supplies as well, he’s somehow managed to completely fill the rest of his worn sketchbook that he brought here more than half empty in less than three weeks. A certain freckled face and warm brown eyes has nothing, and everything, to do with it. 

After a quick shower and a fruitless vigorous scrub under his dirt caked nails, Phil pulls on clean clothes and grabs his car keys, slipping his feet into his trainers that were once white - now more of a greeny-brown. 

The ride into town is peaceful, nothing but trees and endless fields and very few cars on the road for Phil to worry about accidentally bumping into. Everything about this place has been peaceful though, from the very second he arrived he’s felt a calm wash over him. Except for a few moments, he eyes the side road that apparently leads to Triple H Ranch as he passes it by. He hasn’t seen the horse, or Dan, in over a week. 

Not like Phil’s keeping track of the days or anything. 

He doesn’t know why he misses it… him. 

Phil shakes his head as he turns onto the main road. His head is the clearest it’s been in ages. He’s not about to go clouding it up with thoughts of some local cowboy. No matter how hot said cowboy may be. That’s not why Phil is here. 

And the faces filling his sketchbook? Those are only between Phil and the higher powers that be. And well, maybe the art store employee that gives him a confusing, knowing smirk as they ring him up. He’s not quite sure what that is all about. 

Before heading to pick up groceries, Phil decides to stop into the local diner for lunch. His stomach grumbles from his sparse dry cereal breakfast in agreement, and he tosses his spoils from the art store in his rental car before walking the few doors down to the diner. 

It’s very retro-country to say the least, wooden log paneled walls and cherry-red upholstered booths and stools. Phil’s eyes scan the small dining room, chuckling to himself as almost every single patron is sporting a cowboy hat. Sometimes he wonders if he’s still in the 21st century - he reckons it would be charming if it wasn’t so laughable, of course Phil would end up in a place like this. Somewhere so completely opposite to anything he has ever been used to. 

Though, he muses as he sits himself down on a stool at the matching cherry-red counter, he thinks he’s actually starting to get used to this place. 

“What can I get for ‘ya, honey?” A menu is slapped down in front of him, and Phil looks up to a grinning blonde waitress in a bright pink apron - Anne on the silver name tag pinned to it. Her pony tail swishes as she cocks her head at Phil, seemingly sizing him up. It’s the same expression he’s seen on just about every local he’s encountered here. 

“Um a coffee, please? And can you give me a minute with this?” Phil flips open the menu, scanning its contents. 

A white mug is placed down in front of him, Anne returning with a large pot of coffee to fill it. 

“I’ll be! You’re that British guy right?” she asks as she slides a bowl of little plastic creamer cups over to Phil. 

“Can’t go undetected in a place like this, huh?” Phil muses, mostly to himself, before ordering the first sandwich with the least offensive amount of cheese on it that he sees. 

“You’re the talk of the town, even out staging that wild Howell this time,” she says.

Phil can feel Anne eyeing him up again as he rips open far too many sugar packets for a normal human being.

“You got everybody wondering what a city slicker all the way from London is up to ‘round here.”

Phil shrugs. “Just needed a change of scenery,” he hums, earning a huff and a _“Don’t we all”_ in response from over her shoulder as she moves to the other end of the counter. 

“Hey, what’s that about that Howell guy?” he asks when a plate is set out in front of him. A BLT that seems to be ninety percent B, with very little L and T in sight, and an absolute mountain of french fries stare back at him. 

“Oh, Daniel? He’s a real hot topic of the town. Quiet boy, he likes horses more than people I’d reckon, but he’s a bonafide miracle-working horse whisperer. ” 

Someone whistles from beside Phil, he looks over mid chew of a large mouthful of sandwich. 

“You heard about his newest crazy project, Annie?” the man next to Phil interrupts. Phil chews as he takes in his cream-colored cowboy hat and greying beard. “He’s been working with Pete’s new cow pony and he told me Howell’s trying to make a jumper out of some mustang.” 

“Boy might have a gift, but I don’t think he could gentle a mustang,” Anne shakes her head. 

“I heard it was one of those runaways from that auction in March,” someone else, from the other side of Phil pipes in. “He came in asking all around if anyone was missin’ a paint a few weeks back. Don’t think it was wild.” 

There are a few hums of agreement from around the diner.

“He actually came in?” another voice pipes in. 

A head pops out from the opening between the kitchen and the dining room, “Yeah! I thought I was seeing a ghost!” 

Phil’s neck hurts from the way he’s snapping it in every direction, trying to keep up with each new voice that speaks over each other until it seems like the entire dining room is in on the conversation. He can’t do much but sit there and take it all in - the gossip and rumors flying at all angles - completely unable to get a word, or question in edgewise. 

It’s quite the scene, Phil eating his lunch with wide eyes as half a dozen cowboys all clue him in - with seemingly contradictory information - about who Daniel Howell of Howell’s Horse Healing really is. 

Phil leaves half an hour later with a tip on the counter, a full stomach, and a plethora of conflicting thoughts floating through his brain. He shops for his groceries thoughtfully, half tuned in to the employee at the front chatting to him about the weather as he fills his basket. 

So Dan still hasn’t found that horse’s owner. And he’s turning him into a _jumper?_

What does that even mean? 

Why can’t this store stock brand name cereal? 

What’s a cow pony? 

What’s a _horse whisperer?_

He’s still musing the questions his lunch brought to the forefront of his mind as he drives himself back home. The rain is coming down harder, the windshield wipers of Phil’s rental car working overtime to keep his view clear. He’s once again thankful that there are rarely any drivers on the road, just a truck or two every few minutes. Phil has never been the best driver. A lot of people would argue that he’s actively the worst, but Phil doesn’t think he’s _that_ bad. 

He should probably be focusing more on the road though, but thoughts of Dan keep coming back every time he tries. By the time he’s pulling back into his little spot between the shed and the house, his fingers ache from their death-grip on the wheel. 

After his groceries are put away with haste, Phil finds himself back in the steam of the warm shower. This time it isn’t to get the caked on dirt off his body, but to sooth his tense muscles and sort through his thoughts. 

He has a lot of Googling to do when he’s out and dried off. 

Phil’s in the middle of scanning the history of wild horses in Alberta on Wikipedia when the Skype call noise starts up its annoying bleeping and blooping - half of his screen now overtaken with the incoming call. 

He sighs, sits back up straighter on the sofa, and accepts the call. There’s a bit more time to prepare for whatever lectures he’s about to hear from his brother as the call takes more than a few seconds to connect, Phil’s waning WiFi struggling to load all ten pixels of Martyn’s face. 

“Hey kid!” 

Phil rolls his eyes, “When are you going to stop calling me kid, Mar?” 

“Never,” Martyn laughs. “Maybe when I stop getting calls from the folks every other day asking if I’ve heard from you?”

Phil sighs, running a hand through his hair, then down his face. 

“Why are you ignoring their calls?” 

“Cell service isn’t great here.” 

“Oh, bugger off.” 

“I just,” Phil groans, sliding back down into the cushions of the couch, “it’s been good for me here. I don’t want to ruin it with their judgement and disappointed looks.” 

“They won’t-” 

Phil raises a brow, stopping Martyn in his tracks. 

Martyn laughs, “You’re right. They just miss you, that’s all. You’ve got Mum worrying, you really should give her a ring.” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

“You’ll call her,” Martyn gives him a pointed glare. 

Phil just hums in response. He doesn’t want to have to deal with unpacking the feeling he’s getting deep in his chest, the one that’s recoiling away from any connections to his real life. Even if it’s just talking to his brother, or the idea of talking to his parents. This little retreat does still have an expiration date, and he’d quite like to not spoil it beforehand. 

“Hey,” Martyn shakes him out of his thoughts with a softer voice. “You look really good.” 

Phil snorts, “Can you even see me?” He pulls his laptop closer to his face, not seeing much more than a tiny blur of himself in the corner of his screen. Maybe that has more to do with the dirt and rain stained glasses on his face than the poor connection, he really should’ve put his contacts in after his shower. Or, at least wiped off his glasses. 

Martyn chuckles. “I don’t know how you’re coping out there in the sticks, kid. But it looks good on you. I see your hair is going brown again, I always thought that black dye made you look like an emo teenager. And am I even seeing some color on that pasty face of yours?” 

Phil dramatically rolls his eyes, but a smile finds its way on his face as he settles back into the sofa. Perhaps he doesn’t need to be completely cutting himself off from his real life, he thinks to himself as he starts to describe the rolling hills behind his little cottage to his brother. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lets all take a moment to scream at this glorious [art](https://twitter.com/Lovelydeps/status/1259264475821211648?s=20) Eli made inspired by my nonsense with this fic. I'm so obsessed I am considering getting it tattooed on my forehead this is now my love letter to Eli thank you that is all


	5. Chapter 5

Phil’s flowers grow and he paints them as they blossom. It’s the first time he’s actually kept a plant alive, let alone almost a whole garden. Though that has more to do with mother nature taking care of them than Phil’s thumb magically turning green, but he lets himself own the satisfaction anyway - pride blossoming in his chest as well as he admires the array of colors. 

Colorful canvases fill the small cottage now. Phil is running out of places to hang and prop them up. He’s still in his pajamas, staring at the growing pile of them in the corner of his bedroom with his hands on his hips, when there’s a light knock on the door. 

Phil perks up. The only people who know Phil’s out here that would have any business stopping by are his landlord and… Dan. He has no reason to be expecting Dan, but he also has no reason to be expecting his landlord either, so he lets himself hope as he spins around and steps out of the bedroom. 

It’s not like Phil is friends with Dan or anything. He’s only met the guy twice in the month he’s been here. They barely even know each other. That doesn’t stop Phil from thinking about him though. Thinking about giving Dan a call or even stopping by his ranch. But that’s just the solitude getting to him and nothing else. He has no other reason to be thinking of the curly-haired cowboy. None at all. 

He doesn’t. Do either of those things, of course. Phil keeps to himself, as he should. Painting, splashing his feet in the creek, and making the occasional stop into town for art supplies and groceries. 

So there’s nothing wrong with an extra pep in his step - a little hope - at the prospects of an unexpected visitor. Phil could use the company, even if it goes against the entire reason he’s here. 

Phil flicks the lock, running a hand through his messy quiff before swinging the door open with a bright smile. 

“ _Oh!”_ Phil squeaks, the smile tugging down to a frown as he slams the door shut as quickly as it opened. The sound of a hoof on the wooden porch resonates with the sound of the closing door. Phil sighs. 

This is not the company he wants. 

Once his heart rate is back to something somewhat normal from the fright, Phil pushes his back away from the door and makes his way to the bedroom for his phone. 

It rings. And rings. And rings some more. 

Until eventually, “ _Howell’s Horse Healing, leave a message.”_

Phil runs his hand down his face and sighs. 

“Hey Dan. It’s me again.” Phil chuckles, “Phil. That’s who ‘me’ is.”

He plops down on his bed, falling back to the pillows with his phone to his ear like a teenage girl on the phone with her crush. “There’s a horse on my porch. And uh,” he laughs again, nerves shining through, “I’m not just reciting a Dr. Seuss book title to you. It’s uh, the same horse. What did you call him again? Something about cows right? That one. Uh, I’ll just be hiding here until you get this and come get him, or until he runs off. Give me a ca-” 

Phil is cut off by the beep of the voicemail recording ending. He shakes his head at his inability to not be awkward on the phone and sends the message off anyway. Hopefully Dan will get it, and come get the horse, soon. 

He waits for his phone to ring as he pours instant coffee into a mug and dry cereal into a bowl, jumping a good foot in the air when he’s stirring the coffee grounds and hot water with his cereal spoon and a big horse head appears at the open kitchen window. 

“ _Jesus,”_ Phil gasps. “You gave me a fright,” he huffs at the horse. The horse blinks, then huffs back, bumping his nose against the window screen. 

“You should go home now!” Phil says in a louder voice as he backs out of the kitchen nook, coffee and cereal in hand. “Dan’s probably missing you.” 

The horse doesn’t respond. Nor does he leave the porch, Phil watching him with a distrustful eye as he backs away and sits himself down on the couch - not once turning his back to the big black and white beast at his window. 

Phil mumbles something about a _free mukbang_ as he crunches his cereal, keeping track of the unmoving horse out of the corner of his eye. 

Phil’s phone doesn’t ring and Dan doesn’t show up. Phil washes his breakfast dishes, peering out the window at the horse who is now grazing at the grass in front of the cottage. He takes a shower and gets dressed, then calls Dan again. No answer. It rings and rings as Phil rests his head against the screen of the front door - leaving the large wooden one open now that the intruder is no longer on the porch. 

He tries to get some things done. He sweeps the floors with an eye out on the yard and an ear out for his phone. He sits down at the dining table with his sketchbook, but he ends up spending more time gazing out the window than actually pressing his charcoal pencil to the paper. 

A few hours pass. He calls Dan, again and again, but he doesn’t come. The horse doesn’t leave either. Something other than nerves starts to twist in his stomach. It feels… bad. It feels guilty. Guilty that his stupid fear of horses is making him sit here - looking out the screen door at the horse in the bright red halter nosing at the grass - hoping he just runs away. 

That would upset Dan, wouldn’t it? Because from all he’s heard, that horse is his now. Phil has never really had a pet before - unless you can call his backyard breeding of hamsters when he was a child having a pet - but he reckons if he did he would be devastated if it were to run away. 

For the first time he sees the beast in front of his house with a hint of sympathy in his heart. 

“I hate you,” he mutters under his breath, not really meaning it in the slightest. 

Phil sighs, deep and long as he realizes what he needs to do. He doesn’t want to. He isn’t sure if he even can. 

But he has to. For the horse. For Dan. 

For his own guilty conscience. 

Before his resolve has any chance to crack, Phil slips his phone and house keys in his pocket and his feet in his trainers by the door. He shuts the door behind him slowly, with the least amount of noise possible, and keeps an eye on the horse nosing at the stream as he tiptoes to the shed. He psyches himself up to turn his back, giving one last glance at the unbothered horse having a drink before turning around and opening the shed door. 

A nervous whine leaves his throat when he realizes the rope he thought he saw hung by a nail on the wall next to the axe is no longer in its spot. He steps further into the dark shed, its musty smell filling his nose, and scans the room again before noticing the bundle of rope had simply fallen. He crouches down to pick it up and pops back up and spins around. 

“Ah!” he gasps. “You’ve got to stop doing this to me,” Phil scolds, holding his hand to his heart as his chest heaves. 

The black and white horse blows air out of his nose, huffing as he bobs his head up and down a few times. 

“Alright. Okay,” Phil says more to himself than the horse. “We have to get you home now,” he drops his voice, low and quiet - the only thing he knows about approaching horses being the soft voice and the slow, gentle movements he saw Dan use. 

Phil slowly steps towards the horse, holding a tentative hand out. The horse starts to step forward and Phil stops in his tracks. 

“No,” Phil squeaks, “no, you stay right there.” His voice shakes as he composes himself and starts to move closer again. He’s never felt so stupid for having a fear before. The horse is completely unbothered, albeit looking a bit antsy to say hello, and here Phil is. A fully grown man shaking in his trainers at their close proximity. 

“Okay. Okay. You got this,” Phil says softly to himself as he reaches for the horse’s halter. “He’s not going to eat you, everything is going to be okay. You’re not going to eat me right?” Phil’s hand shakes slightly as he grips the fabric. The horse holds his head still. 

“Oh,” Phil hums, bringing the rope around to tie to the halter. “Good boy, you just… stay right there.” 

The rope is looped around and knotted a few times - probably too many times, but Phil can’t be too careful. The horse stands still, letting Phil tug the rope to make sure it won’t go loose or untie itself. It doesn’t, so Phil takes a deep breath in and out and steps back to look at the horse - the end of the rope-made-lead gripped tightly in his fist. 

“Okay, let’s get you home,” Phil eyes the minuscule amount of space between the entrance of the shed and the horse and bites his lip. “Can you back your big horse butt up and let me out of here?” 

The horse flicks his ears. Phil raises a brow as he steps forward, hoping putting on a brave face will make him brave. And besides, the horse hasn’t eaten his face off yet, so maybe… maybe it won’t. He tells himself that as he steps right up to the horse, making the same clicky-kissy noises he’s heard Dan make when the horse doesn’t back up as a shot in the dark. 

The horse’s ears flick towards him again and Phil tenses up as he starts to move backwards. Phil bites his lip and follows, stepping out of the shed and swinging the door shut once they’re both completely out. 

“Good boy,” Phil says again. “Are you going to let me take you home now?” 

The horse snorts and Phil actually laughs. 

“Okay, but this does _not_ mean we’re friends now,” Phil shakes his head as they walk along, Phil leading the horse towards the dirt road. A nose bumps at his shoulder and Phil brings his hand holding the lead rope up to pat at the horse’s neck. 

He can’t believe he’s actually doing this- willingly walking up a dirt road in the middle of tall pine trees, a big black and white spotted horse walking alongside him. 

“So what is Dan calling you again?” 

“Moo!” 

The horse’s ears flick and Phil chuckles. 

“Like a cow.” 

“I hope he’s still calling you that. It’s a good name.” 

“You know, my name is Philip. My mum once told me it means _lover of horses_ ,” Phil snorts. “I think she could feel my fear from the womb and she and Dad thought it would be a funny joke to play on me.” 

“Oh wait, your name is _Moon_ right? I like the cow name better, no offense.”

“Sorry,” Phil says after a moment. “That was rude. Moon is nice, I guess. I like the moon.”

“Do you like space? I like space. When I was little I wanted to be either an astronaut or a weatherman. I didn’t become either of those things. I don’t really know what I am right now.” 

Phil looks away from the horse, up at the path ahead of them. 

“I guess that’s okay.” 

“Okay, maybe I don’t hate you. I just don’t trust you. You’ve got suspicious eyes.” 

The horse snorts, his head turning and bumping Phil’s shoulder. 

“ _I_ don’t have suspicious eyes!” Phil gasps. “Don’t look at me like that!” 

“You’re just a little scary, why are you so big?” 

“Maybe I should understand you more, shouldn’t I?” Phil muses. “I was always so much taller than everyone else.” 

Phil sighs. “I never asked to be big you know… sometimes I wish I was small.” 

“Okay, maybe a lot of the time,” Phil concedes with a huff of a laugh. 

“How do you like Dan? Is he treating you right?” Phil asks Moon, continuing his babbling as they walk along. 

After a brief moment of silence Phil hums to himself. “He seems like a good guy. He must be nice.” 

“So why do you keep running away from him? Do you just like to jump? Is my grass tasty? Is that why you come to mine so often?” 

“I wonder where Dan is. What do you think he’s doing?” Phil uses his hand not holding the lead to get his phone out. No new calls or messages. 

“He still hasn’t called.” 

“Do you know if this number is his landline or his cell?” Phil holds his phone out to Moon’s face. Moon bumps his nose against it.

Phil scrunches his nose as he thinks. “Maybe he’s out and that’s why he hasn’t called back. He probably doesn’t even know you’re gone.” 

“He’s really pretty isn’t he?” Phil looks down at his feet, walking alongside large hooves. He toes at a piece of gravel and it goes shooting down the path. Moon makes a loud huffing noise, but keeps walking along, mostly unbothered. 

“Dan, I mean,” Phil keeps on. “He’s quite fit.”

“Do you know if he’s single? Or gay? _And_ gay, preferably.” 

Phil looks over at the horse next to him. 

“I’m really talking to a horse and expecting him to answer,” Phil sighs. “Phil you’ve officially lost it.” 

Moon whinnies at that, making Phil jump. 

“Oi, don’t mock me.” 

“I’m kind of hungry, are you hungry? What’s your favorite food?” 

“I like pizza but I don’t really like cheese. Do you like cheese? You probably can’t eat cheese, huh?”

“Maybe we _can_ get along.”

“I wonder if there are gay horses,” Phil says. 

“I bet there are.”

He gasps, whipping his head towards the horse with wide eyes. “You’re not homophobic are you?” 

“I didn’t think it would be this far. Do you think we’re almost there?” Phil pulls his phone back out to check the time. He doesn’t know why he does though, it’s not like he checked the time when they started walking. 

“Do you think bees have feelings? Like, do bees fall in love… Do you think they get sad sometimes? I hope they don't get sad.” 

“Oh no, do _you_ get sad sometimes?” Phil gasps. “You must have feelings too, if bees do. I hope you don’t get sad.” 

Moon drops his head and noses at Phil’s side. “Ahh!” Phil squeaks. “That tickles!” 

The horse nudges at him, nosing at his pocket. 

“Oh, I don’t have any treats. I’m sorry,” Phil frowns - like he is, actually, genuinely sorry. Moon continues to sniff at his pocket. “What? Do you need to make a phone call?” Phil laughs.

“What about gay _bees_?” 

“So have you given any thought to Dan’s relationship status?” 

“I know it sounds stupid, but I think I really like him.” 

Moon huffs. 

“Don’t snort at me,” Phil pats at Moon’s neck.

“Or maybe you should. I shouldn’t be thinking of cute cowboys, I came out here to quiet my mind and reconnect with my art. And now it’s just full of Dan. My thoughts _and_ my sketchbook." Phil sighs. 

“Have you seen his freckles though? _God_ , he’s so pretty.” 

“Why isn’t the plural of horse ‘heese’? It makes so much more sense. Like goose, geese. Horse, heese.” 

Moon perks up as they turn onto the road that apparently leads to Dan’s ranch. Phil quickens his pace to keep up so the horse isn’t dragging him along the pavement. 

“Are we almost there? Are you excited to get home?” Phil huffs, breathless trying to keep up. 

“Whoa boy, okay I can’t keep up.” Moon stops instantly at Phil’s words and Phil almost falls flat on his face from the unexpected dead stop. 

“Alright,” he tugs at the rope, “I meant slow down not stop, come on now.” Phil chuckles as he tugs, the horse following along once again. 

“You’re not so bad, are you?” Phil hums. “I’m sorry I was mean to you before, I was just scared of you.” 

“I’m still a little scared of you, you know,” Phil pets Moon’s neck. 

Moon lets out a few loud snorts, bobbing his head. 

“Okay, okay,” Phil holds his hands up, the rope still tucked between his palm and a folded thumb, “I’m a lot scared of you.” 

“Oh wow.” Phil stops as the trees start to thin out, opening up to rolling hills and bright green fields. He isn’t able to stop for long, Moon tugging him along all the way up to a large wooden gate at the end of the road. 

The whole property is full of fences just like the gate in front of them, all the way around the fields, corralling different squares and circles within the fields. The horse Phil is holding onto noses at it. 

“Alright, okay,” Phil moves around Moon and struggles to pull the big, heavy latch. “Let’s get you home.” He pulls the latch up after a few huffs and puffs and swings the gate open with a couple more. They step through and Moon patiently waits as Phil swings the big gate closed. 

He’s much less patient once Phil has the gate latched again. 

“I don’t know why you keep running off if you’re so eager to get back,” Phil laughs as he’s all but dragged across the grass. 

The property is sizable, surrounded by tall pine trees with the same mountains Phil sees from his cottage off in the distance behind them. A big red barn with white trim sits between the field of horses and a small glimmering pond. Snug up against the far line of trees that look to lead off into the woods is a large ranch style house, log paneled siding and all. 

With the bright blue sky and its puffy white clouds above, it looks like something straight out of a postcard. 

There are horses all around, probably a dozen or so in the large field by the barn - noses in the grass, tails swishing every which way. There’s another in the big rectangular pen across from the barn. This one with a rider, doing loops around three large barrels set up in a triangle in the pen. 

Phil squints as they get closer, smiling when he realizes it’s Dan on the horse. A flash of brown curls under that black cowboy hat and clad in a light wash denim jacket that matches his jeans. It would probably be a fashion crime if it weren’t so funny, or so _Western._ Or, well, if Phil actually knew anything about fashion. 

Dan and the horse are zooming around the barrels and it absolutely mesmerizes Phil. He stops in front of the tall fencing of the pen with wide eyes. He loops the end of the rope he’s holding around the fence a few times and takes it all in. 

Phil doesn’t think he’s ever seen a horse move that fast, not even racehorses on the telly. He’s shocked that Dan’s hat remains on his head as he watches him and the tan horse he’s on fly around the barrel at the tip of the triangle, then zoom straight across the length of the pen. 

The horse skids to a stop. Dan’s chest is heaving fast and hard. He leans forward against the horse’s neck as he pats at it - his mouth moving, saying something to the horse that Phil can’t hear. 

“Hey!” Phill calls. “You missing something?” 

Dan’s head snaps over and Phil can see his shoulders rise and fall with a huff of a laugh as he shakes his head, a grin on his face. Phil giggles, patting at Moon’s neck. Dan’s laugh becomes audible, then even louder as he turns his horse towards Phil and trots over until he’s right up against the tall wooden fence. 

Phil has to step up on one of the bottom horizontal posts of the fence in order to not make his neck sore looking up at Dan on his horse. He rests his arms against the top of the fence, risking the splinters but enjoying the way the sun-warmed wood feels against his skin. 

Dan lets go of his reins to put his hands on his hips. “I didn’t even notice you snuck out again, you menace.” 

Moon huffs in response. 

“He really likes you,” Dan addresses Phil in a less high-pitched voice, nodding towards the black and white horse with a laugh. “You know that?” 

Phil snorts, shaking his head, “He’s not all that bad himself.” He looks over at the horse and scrunches his nose. “But don’t let that get to your head.” 

Moon snorts, causing the horse Dan is sat on to whinny in response and spurring on a whole chain of laughter between the two men as well. 

“So what was that you were just doing?” Phil asks, squinting to see Dan on account of the height he has on him, as well as the afternoon sun getting brighter and brighter every second. “With the uh, zoomy… things,” Phil gestures to the blue barrels behind Dan.

Sweat drips down Dan’s face, damp curls escaping from the cowboy hat on his head and sticking to his forehead and temples. The sun in his eyes makes the brown almost look golden, gleaming as the corners of them crinkle. The patches of red on his face from exertion darken with his smile, dimples poking into both sides of his face as he animatedly tells Phil about something called barrel racing. 

“And so he keeps bringing me back this cow pony,” Dan talks animatedly with his hands. It only scares Phil a little bit that he’s fully sat on a horse without the reins in his hands, instead waving them around. 

“I keep telling him she’s great, and that it’s his sloppy riding that’s the real issue here, but…” Dan shakes his head with a smile. “You know, her name’s Rusty, but she’s not the one that’s out of shape,” Dan laughs. He leans forward and pats at the horse’s neck. 

“Sometimes no matter how many times you tell a man something and it’s proven right, he’ll still contest you. But hey,” Dan laughs, “he keeps paying me, so I’m not going to complain.” 

“Plus I love hanging out with Rusty, don’t we have fun?” he coos in a high, baby voice. The horse’s ears flick and Dan laughs. 

Phil doesn’t think his smile can get any wider, but it does as Dan leans forward and wraps his long arms around the horse’s neck. Dan’s eyes squeeze shut for a moment with his head pushed up against the side of the horse’s neck as he hugs her, and Phil feels his heart flip in his chest. 

He’s supposed to be afraid of horses, damnit. He’s not supposed to be crushing on horse boys either, the rational part of his brain - the one losing its resolve - reminds him. 

“I can’t believe that’s a pony,” Phil says before he can blurt out anything else. “I didn’t know babies could be that big.” 

Dan honks an incredibly loud laugh, one that startles the horse next to Phil - startling Phil as well, like a domino effect. 

“Wait,” Dan gets out between loud laughter, “you’re not joking? Oh my god.” 

Dan wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and tries to compose himself. Phil looks up at him with wide, confused eyes, eyebrows scrunched together. 

“Ponies aren’t baby horses, Phil,” Dan deadpans. “She’s twelve years old. A pony is just a smaller horse, it has nothing to do with age.”

“Oh,” Phil frowns. “I feel stupid.” 

“You’re not stupid, just a city boy,” Dan says. 

“You say those words like they mean the same thing.”

Dan snorts, shaking his head before winking at Phil. 

Phil coughs, looking down at the splintered wood before he does something _really_ stupid like commit that look on Dan’s face to memory. 

“Can I ask you a stupid question?” Phil asks. 

“You’ve earned the right,” Dan answers with a smirk. 

“Shut up,” Phil huffs. “What _is_ a baby horse then?” 

“Oh, Phil. You’re too cute for your own good.”

Phil’s red cheeks are definitely from more than the sunburn he may or may not have gotten from the walk over. 

“I’m gonna cool this girl off,” Dan says as he swings a leg around and jumps off his horse with ease. “Do you mind untying that rascal and putting him back in the field over there?” 

Phil stutters a bit, watching Dan open the gate to the pen and bring the horse through. 

“The latch is a little sticky, give the post a kick if it gives you any issues,” Dan continues, walking right past Phil heeding no mind to Phil’s wide eyes and open mouth. 

“M-me?” Phil calls after him as Dan makes his way towards the big red barn. “You want me to-?” 

“Is there anyone else around here?” Dan laughs, turning back to look from his left to his right with raised eyebrows. “You walked him all the way over here, I believe in you,” he adds, continuing on towards the barn. 

Phil’s hands shake only slightly, actually laughing as Moon bumps his nose against them while he unties the rope from the fencing. 

If you told Phil a few months ago - sat in his cubicle in a stuffy London office - that he’d be putting a horse out to a paddock before following a trail of horse hoof and cowboy boot prints in the dirt to the side of a barn, he’d laugh in your face. 

Yet here he is. 

Dan has the tan horse, the one he called Rusty, tied up at a wooden beam. The heavy looking brown saddle and its accoutrements are now gone, and Phil feels a refreshing spray of water mist at his face as Dan hoses off the horse from its other side. 

“Lock the gate?” 

Phil nods, but then realizes Dan’s not looking at him - crouched down by Rusty’s legs. “Yeah,” he answers. 

Dan pops back up after a moment, smiling with both dimples. “Thank you.” He pats at the horse’s rear end then turns off the water. “Let me put her in,” he says, untying her from the beam with quick, skilled fingers. 

“Do you,” Dan starts as he moves around the horse so he’s right in front of Phil. 

Phil, who, quite honestly is having a hard time focusing on what Dan is saying with the way he’s biting his lip. 

“Uh- do you want to come in for a cold drink?” Dan scratches at the back of his neck. “Lunch maybe?” 

Phil knows he should say no. He should politely decline, say he has to get back home, but thanks for the offer. He should be doing anything but start to sink roots into whatever this feeling in his chest is. He didn’t come here to make friends. Not human. Definitely not equine. 

And yet, he’s nodding. Smiling as he makes his way over to the ranch house and sits down on the wooden swing on the porch, watching Dan bring the tan horse into the field. A handful of horses run across it to the gate at Dan’s arrival - all of them getting a bit of something out of the pocket in Dan’s jacket from his hand. 

Dan’s laugh is carried with the wind, heard over the soft creaking of the swing as Phil digs his toe to the deck and pushes himself back and forth. 

He shouldn’t be thinking about how he could get used to this. 

“I could cry!” Phil does think he sheds a tear as Dan rattles off the beverages in his fridge - Phil sitting at the small round table in the middle of the sizable kitchen while Dan’s bending over with his head in the fridge. “ _Iced tea, lemonade, Ribena”_ leaving his lips. 

Dan chuckles and is quick to pull two tall glasses from his freezer, filling the frosty glasses with ice, and asking Phil his desired concentration. Dan makes it perfectly, Phil not even realizing how overheated he was until the cool drink is going down his throat. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” Phil sets his glass down, staring at it lovingly as Dan slumps into the wooden chair across from him. “Where did you even get your hands on this?” 

“Amazon,” Dan laughs. “But don’t tell the locals. I know it’s bad, but I can’t be without it.” 

“You can take the boy out of England, but you can’t take the Ribena out of the boy,” Phil suggests with a smirk. 

“Something like that.” Dan’s eyes gleam as he shakes his head, picking his glass back up and downing half of it in three big gulps. 

“It’s getting hotter out,” Dan says after a comfortable pause of silence. “How are you faring city boy?” 

Phil shrugs. The heat has been more intense than he’s used to, but it hasn’t bothered him that much. He can thank Lester Family Vacations to the Southern United States for that, he guesses. 

“Probably as well as you,” he settles on. 

Dan snorts, waving a hand in the air. “This is about the only British I have left in me,” he taps his fingers against the frosted glass. “So I don’t buy that for a second,” Dan smirks. 

Phil quirks a brow, sipping his own drink. “How long have you been living here, then?” 

Dan’s playful smirk turns to a line, then a slight frown. 

“A while,” he says quietly. “Hey, are you hungry?” Dan’s quick to change the subject, getting up from his chair. “I’m gonna make a sandwich, do you want a sandwich?” 

Phil nods, an ever-polite _“please and thank you_ ” to Dan’s back as he sticks his head back into the fridge - the haste of it all giving him a bit of whiplash. 

Perhaps Phil isn’t the only one running from something. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this week on: sierra had an upload schedule she actually could keep to but still decided to go off the rails and post a chapter a day early anyways. i would like to blame it on an oncoming migraine and wanting to feel like i've accomplished _something_ today before it completely ruins me so hey! what even are days anymore anyways!


	6. Chapter 6

They say that sometimes when you have something on your mind, especially when you know you really shouldn’t be thinking of it, your dreams cling on to it with a fervor that just doesn’t want to let go. They replay it, over and over. Until, just maybe, you stop ignoring that something. Or perhaps, until you do something about it. 

That’s all hearsay, though. It’s not like Phil has ever made a habit of doing anything about the things he wants, the things he dreams of. 

Phil dreams of rustic ham sandwiches, an exasperated sigh, and teasing words about hating cheese. He hears laughter and more teasing, sees eyes rolling as he’s asked for the fifth time if he’s sure he doesn’t want to ride home on horseback. He smells the earthy, rubber scent of the interior of Dan’s black pickup truck. He feels the large, warm hand squeezing at his shoulder and hears the sound of the car door shutting softly. 

“ _Come by whenever you want, I’m usually around.”_

Phil _did_ come all the way to Canada though, so maybe he isn’t as rusty with the concept of doing things for himself - acting impulsively and being a bit selfish - as he thinks. And besides, he’s supposed to be selfish right now, he’s allowing himself that. It’s the whole reason he’s in a cottage in the middle of the woods. He needs it. 

He just… doesn’t need a clear mind all fogged up with thoughts of brown eyes and sweat-damp curls. Of honey-sweet laughter followed by cacophonous cackling. Dusty hands and dimples. 

The fog is so nice. How can Phil be mad at the fog when it’s so, so nice? 

It rises from the creek, curling and weaving around the trees until the mist hits Phil’s face. Squinting eyes, puffy with sleep, are woken up. Phil yawns, stretching as the cool early morning air bites at his bare legs and crawls up his oversized sleep shirt. 

He should have his coffee out here more often, he muses the idea as he sits himself down on the porch steps and tips the mug against his lips. 

He’s been having the same dreams for a week now, every night since the day he walked a horse half an hour down the road and then was dropped back off at his front door by a boy like a teenager in a romantic comedy. 

Phil kind of feels like a teenager in a romantic comedy. Listed under: _coming of age, finding yourself, horse-related slapstick comedy. Not yet rated._

He snorts to himself as the coffee slowly wakes him up and looks out at the foggy stream and trees in the distance, pondering what he’s going to do with himself today. 

There’s a thought - an invitation, a suggestion - that comes to the forefront of Phil’s mind. It’s been there all week, constantly pushed back on account of Phil’s insistence. But he plays with it as he sips his coffee. 

It pings around each corner of his brain while he goes back inside and pours himself a bowl of cereal. It’s tossed back and forth as he washes up and switches out his glasses for contacts, pros and cons sorted through. 

He decides he shouldn’t as he runs product through his now very brown hair - shaping it into as much of the perfect quiff he prefers as he can with how long it has gotten. He’s due for a haircut, maybe even a re-dye as the last of the black holding on has finally faded out with the sun and excessive washing. Phil didn’t exactly foresee just how sweaty and dirty he’d get throughout the day just from living in the country. 

With one last glance in the bathroom mirror, he thinks he’s growing on it. Maybe he’ll stick with the brown, even if his roots are exposing him - the warmer, gingery brown he’s covered for so long shining through. And he’s not so sure about going to the small barber shop or even smaller hairdressers in town. He’s never been good at trusting someone new with his hair - if the same stylist cutting his hair for the past decade is anything to go by. He’ll leave his hair to do whatever it wants for now. 

Somewhere between the great hair debate and Phil pulling on jeans and a loose tee shirt, the looming thought bouncing around a few more times, he changes his mind and decides that he should do it. When he really looks at it, the cons list is basically nonexistent. If Phil wants something he should do it, he should go after it. 

A little bit of fog in the morning isn’t all that bad. _Right?_

He’s been wondering what to do with the growing piles of paintings in his cottage anyway. It’s a good excuse, even if sorting through the pile in his room to find and pull out one he’s most happy with isn’t doing very much unloading at all. 

Phil tucks his sketchpad and the canvas under his arm and grabs his pencil case and his phone, heading out the door before he can do something smart like turn right around and go back inside. 

Blossoming red flowers painted by a delicate, thoughtful hand sit shotgun as Phil makes his way into town. Phil sat right in his overgrown grass in front of his porch as he painted them a few days prior, canvas in his lap and a different patch of red on his mind. They’re not as pretty, but he’s proud of the result. His work is starting to truly feel like himself again. 

Phil smiles to himself as they catch his eye, leaning over to place one of the two caramel coffees in generic paper cups in the passenger cup holder. He doesn’t know how Dan takes his coffee. He doesn’t even know if Dan _likes_ coffee, his only guess being an assumption based on the old, white coffee pot he spotted on Dan’s kitchen counter, so he just got two of something he likes. Hopefully Dan likes it too, or Phil will be hyped up on sugar and caffeine for the foreseeable future. 

Phil drives past field after field back from town, until he reaches the main entrance of Dan’s property. He turns onto the dusty dirt road, not having to get out of his car to open the main gate as it’s wide open. A beat up, tin mailbox with _Howell_ in thick black lettering on its side sits just outside the gate. There’s an etching of the rising sun over the mountaintops engraved in the wood hanging high over the gate’s entrance. Phil admires it before he passes through, until something else catches his eye. 

In the field to his left, a blur of movement, flashes of black and white coming into focus as the horse runs up to the fencing alongside the dirt path. Moon runs alongside Phil’s car, chasing him all the way down to the barn. Phil can only smile, shaking his head as he watches the horse out of the corner of his eye. In his rearview, Moon shakes his own head when the fence keeps him from following Phil all the way down to Dan’s house. 

Phil isn’t sure why he’s so happy to see that this particular horse is still in Dan’s care. And he definitely doesn’t dissect the pang of guilt he feels when he realizes he’s brought a treat for Dan but not the horse as he parks up next to Dan’s big truck in front of the house and tucks the painting back under his arm, a coffee in each hand. Phil absolutely does _not_ like a horse. 

He doesn’t like a horse trainer - or rancher, or cowboy, whatever Dan is - either. It just gets lonely out in the woods all alone. That’s all. 

Phil looks around after he swings his car door shut with a bump of his hip. There’s horses out in the field, but the large barn door is latched shut, and there doesn’t seem to be much of any other activity as his eyes pan across the ranch. He takes in a deep breath and swings around, making his way up the steps of the big wraparound porch and tapping his knuckles against the frame of the screen door - the main, forest green door already pushed open. 

Phil stares at the picture of a horse that’s on the calendar pinned to the wall across from the door. The horse stares back. Phil makes a few faces at it, the sound of a door shutting, then footsteps across wood floors getting louder from inside the house. 

“Phil,” Dan says once he’s in view, “Hi!” His face almost looks like it’s just lit up - double dimples and bright, round eyes. It’s infectious. 

Dan’s curls are dark and damp, but they look perfectly tousled, more like he’s just gotten out of the shower instead of sweating under a cowboy hat all day. Which, Phil guesses makes sense considering it’s still pretty early. Just over a month in the country is apparently the answer to Phil’s parents’ age-long inquiry of what will it take to turn Phil into a morning person. 

He’s in all black again today, in stark contrast to the denim on denim number he was in the other week - in more ways than one. All of the black looks good on Dan. It looks very _him_ , even though Phil doesn’t necessarily really know Dan, he can feel that it’s his color. 

It’s all just incredibly… tight. 

A tight black tee shirt, hugging Dan’s arms as he reaches for the door to let Phil in. Even tighter black… leggings? Phil guesses that’s what they are as he follows Dan through the door and into the kitchen - his eyes locked on Dan’s bum in the tight fabric _only_ in an attempt to figure out what kind of trousers they are that he’s wearing. 

Phil shakes his head and drops his gaze, following the sound of Dan’s tall black boots from his knees down to the soft tapping they’re making against the hardwood floor. 

“I’m glad you stopped by!”

“I brought you a coffee.” 

Their words are spoken at the same time, over each other as Dan spins around, his big hands wrapped around the back of one of the wood chairs at the small table in the center of the kitchen. They both laugh - Phil holding a fist wrapped around a coffee cup to his mouth to cover his goofy, toothy smile and Dan tipping his head back to hoot towards the ceiling. There’s no reason for it to be so funny, but they laugh regardless. Something in the air makes everything have that bit of weightless, enjoyable ease. 

Phil passes Dan a coffee and he doesn’t miss him eyeing the canvas still tucked under his arm as he does so.

“Oh! Yeah, um,” Phil puts his coffee down on the table and grabs the painting. “You know I paint, right? I thought you might like this.” He holds it in two hands in front of him, biting his lip before gathering the courage to pass it across the table to Dan. Dan sets down his own cup to take it, that big smile somehow only getting wider. 

Phil muses about how he’d like to stick his index finger right into the divot in Dan’s cheek while Dan admires the painting, blushing for both his sudden thoughts as well as the scrutiny and perception. 

“This is for me?” Dan whispers, barely more than a hum. 

Phil’s heart races. “Y-yeah. I-” 

“I love it,” Dan’s head snaps up, his voice louder. His tone sure. “It’s beautiful. But,” he looks back down at the acrylic flowers in his hands, “are you sure you want to give this to me? I don’t deserve something this beautiful.” 

Yes you do, Phil’s brain provides. 

“I’m overrun with them,” Phil’s mouth actually says, his shoulders shrugging. “You’re doing me a favor by taking it.” 

The corner of Dan’s eyes crinkle as he smiles and he clutches the canvas to his chest, almost like he’s hugging it. 

“I have the perfect spot for it, come here,” he says, nodding his head towards the entry of the kitchen that leads into the rest of the house. 

Eyes are kept up this time, Phil looking around as he follows Dan. The walls in the large, open lounge are a similar bright olive green to the entryway Phil’s already seen. That is, where they’re painted, half of the walls being a light wood paneling and the far wall having a large stone fireplace built into the wood. Much like Phil’s rental, the long dining table, couch, and matching chairs are all made of a similar wood - the couch and chairs upholstered in a tan and brown tartan material. It’s very… log cabin, ski lodge out of a catalogue chic. But it feels homey, lived-in as Dan turns back to him with a wash of pink on his cheeks, apologizing for the clutter on the dining table. 

The odd thing that strikes Phil, is that Dan doesn’t look entirely in place. Like he’s not the correct model for the catalogue. Phil doesn’t know why the thought crosses his mind, he barely knows Dan at all. _Hell,_ the only things he knows about Dan would all point to the conclusion that this is exactly the kind of place he would fit into. 

But there’s just something Phil sees. He doesn’t really know what an aura is, and he wouldn’t claim to be able to read them. But that’s the only reasoning he can seem to wrap his head around, that he can read, or feel, Dan’s aura. Maybe it has something to do with his alleged psychic grandmother or something. Maybe he’s just more perceptive than he thinks. 

Maybe it’s just Dan. Or more likely, maybe Phil’s got it all wrong. 

But he can’t help but feel like there’s something he sees in Dan. Something that - from his tight black top all the way down to the soles of his tall black riding boots - screams this rustic vibe, the blue walls and light oak cabinetry in the kitchen, and the green walls of the lounge just aren’t his personal stylistic choice. If Phil can read auras, Dan’s is dark - but not in a bad way. It’s a little closed off, maybe even introverted like Phil himself, but it is warm. Incredibly warm. 

“Right here,” Dan’s voice pulls Phil’s eyes back to him - now standing over by the wall at the other end of the dining table, holding Phil’s painting up to it. Dan turns his head to Phil, his nose all scrunched up, “I’ve always hated these manky walls.” 

Phil feels a sense of satisfaction with the words and makes a note to not roll his eyes the next time someone in his family brings up that psychic grandmother of his. 

“They don’t look half bad with this,” Dan adds, setting the canvas down on the cabinet pushed up against the wall. “I’ll find a nail for her later,” he turns to Phil and beams, “our coffee’s probably getting cold.” 

Dan gestures to the kitchen and Phil lets him lead. 

“I was actually just thinking about yo- oh, for fuck’s sake!” Dan stops in his tracks in the entryway of the kitchen, Phil all but slamming into his back with the sudden stop. Phil ducks his head to the side to look over Dan’s shoulder to see what caused him to stop both his feet and his thought. 

Low and behold, just out the open window above the kitchen sink, is that same horse’s head Phil had at his own window the week before. 

Dan sighs, deep and exasperated. And then he’s laughing, clutching at the moulding of the entryway as his laughter fills the air and Phil’s ears. Phil feels it from the top of his head down to the tip of his toes, Dan’s laughter vibrating through his body until it becomes his own. 

“I was _going_ to say that maybe he would stop jumping fences so much if you stopped by to see him every now and then. But I guess,” Dan pulls himself up straight and looks between Phil and the horse. “I guess that’s not enough for him.” Dan shakes his head, sighing, then finally steps into the kitchen.

“Why would I-” 

Phil’s cut off by Dan waving his hand as he walks towards the kitchen table. He grabs his coffee and lifts it up, “Would you like to join me for coffee on the porch swing?” 

Phil picks up his own cup and follows Dan out, stifling laughter as Dan sticks his tongue out like a child at the horse standing right up against the porch railing. Moon bobs his head, snorting and whinnying as the two men sit on the bench. 

The wind chimes strung to the corner of the overhanging porch roof clang with a sudden warm breeze - it feels nice on their faces, sweet in their ears. Phil leans his forearm against the armrest as he sits back, keeping his hands and legs inside the Phil’s personal space vehicle at all times, lest he do something unwelcome like press his thigh against Dan’s. 

“Shouldn’t you like… tie him up?” Phil nods towards the horse that’s currently intently staring at him. It’s a bit unsettling, but he doesn’t even feel like the same Phil he was a mere month ago as he isn’t completely shaking in his shoes. 

“Nope,” Dan laughs. “Something tells me he’s not going anywhere.” 

“Hm?” 

“Every time he jumps I either find him at your place or halfway to your place,” Dan pauses to sip his coffee. Phil absolutely does not watch his lips press against the plastic lid. “I love caramel coffee by the way. Bit sweet, but maybe I could use it,” he hums, winking at Phil. 

“Anyway,” Dan looks straight again, “I thought he was jumping fences because he had pent up energy or something, but I think he just wants to see you.” 

Phil splutters on his coffee, “Me?” 

“Yeah,” Dan turns his head, smirking at Phil, “I don’t get what he sees in you either.” He huffs out a laugh before sipping at his coffee. Phil feels his cheeks heating up, looking away just as he swears he catches Dan shooting a wink at him again. 

“He jumps those fences?” Phil asks, pointing at the paddock fencing by the barn, instead of saying or doing something stupid - like flirting with the rancher who’s probably only cracking jokes. “They’re so big.”

“A lot of horses can jump higher than that, city boy.” 

Phil’s eyes go wide “Really?”

Dan chuckles, the toe of his boot that’s been pushing them softly back and forth on the swing shaking with the force of it. 

“You’re a breath of fresh air, you know that?” 

“Uh- I…” 

Dan brushes it off. “I’ve been training with Moon, trying to get his energy out so he’s not jumping things he shouldn’t. I was just about to run him over some jumps when you showed up,” Dan pats his free hand against the tight fabric on his thigh for emphasis. 

“Oh, I’m sorry! I should let you get back to that then,” Phil says, starting to push himself up off the porch swing. 

“No, no. I’d appreciate the company if you want to stick around?” Dan’s hand wraps softly around Phil’s wrist, pausing his movements. “I really appreciate this too,” he holds up his coffee once he catches Phil’s eye. 

“It’s no problem,” Phil says softly as he sits back down. “I was actually thinking of doing some sketching, if you really don’t mind. I can only paint my cottage so many times and your barn is like, perfect.” 

“Just repainted her last summer,” Dan beams. “Of course I don’t mind. I don’t typically have many two legged creatures hanging around here, but you’re… different.” Dan gives him an unreadable look before the corner of his mouth tugs up to a smile. “Might be nice to have you around,” he adds before leaning over to set his cup down on the deck. 

“Did you just call me a creature?” Phil raises his brows. 

Dan laughs as he stands up, turning to shoot yet another wink at Phil. 

“Feel free to wander, just don’t go getting yourself lost,” Dan says, walking up to the horse still standing up against the porch railing. He rubs between his eyes. “I’ll be right over there,” Dan points to the large rectangular pen across from the barn. It’s now set up with white poles and jumps instead of the blue barrels Phil saw in it last. 

“Actually,” Phil says as Dan starts to make his way down the porch steps. “Do you mind if I watch?” 

Dan spins around, grinning, “I’d love that. I think he would too,” he gestures towards Moon. “One condition though…” 

Phil nods, his brows pulling together as Dan’s smile gets wider, looking kin to something more conspiratorial than friendly. 

“You have to help me tack him up.” 

Phil gulps. He doesn’t really have a clue what that means, what Dan’s asking, but he’s not sure he can say no with those big brown eyes looking right at him. Both from Dan _and_ the horse who’s neck Dan is patting at. 

Phil follows Dan and Moon follows Phil, all the way to the barn, much to Phil’s chagrin. Dan’s cackle in response to Phil’s wide questioning eyes and raised eyebrows is loud, booming up to the blue sky above them. 

“I had a feeling he would do that,” Dan shakes his head. Phil’s brows tug further together. 

“He’s a good boy, loves follow the leader more than my own horse,” Dan says as he pushes the barn door open with a huff and a groan. “But I think he has a big fat crush on you or something.” 

“It would be me to run away to Canada only to have a horse pursue me,” Phil mutters under his breath, Dan barking out a loud “ _ha!”_ as they step into the barn. 

The barn smells strongly of cedar and, well… horses. It’s not unpleasant though, honestly it’s a familiar smell at this point - typical for this kind of town, this part of the country. Phil’s almost able to step outside of his cottage and not sneeze about a hundred times from the bails of hay in the field behind it, so he only wiggles his nose a bit to stave off a sneeze as he follows Dan into the barn. 

Dan finally grabs onto Moon’s red halter and walks him past Phil, the loud clicking of his hooves against the hard floor reverberating through the quiet barn. It’s quieter than Phil would expect, what with the eight stalls he counts as he looks around while Dan clips ropes to each side of the black and white horse’s halter to keep him in place. 

“They’re all turned out in the field,” Dan reads Phil’s mind. He huffs a little laugh. “I’m up early to let them out, the spoiled brats.” Dan steps up behind Phil as he peers into one of the empty stalls. “That’s Cap’s stall. It’s the biggest one, but don’t tell him that his head is already too big.” 

Dan’s voice is right in Phil’s ear, Phil tries to cover the shiver that runs down his spine with an unconvincing sneeze, muttering something about allergies as he turns to face Dan. 

Dan’s smile looks suspiciously smug, but Phil thinks nothing of it, instead focusing on the black object Dan’s holding out to him. 

“He’ll love it if you give him a brush.” Dan tries to hand the horse brush to Phil, but Phil just stands there with widening eyes. 

“I shouldn’t… I don’t-” Phil looks down at the brush between them with furrowed brows, “I wouldn’t know how.” 

He looks back up to kind eyes and a small, encouraging smile. Dan reaches down and takes Phil’s hand, wrapping it around the plastic of the brush with his own palm pressed against the back of Phil’s hand, squeezing his fingers around the brush. 

“Of course you don’t. That’s why I’m going to show you, city boy.” 

This time, it doesn’t really sound like Dan is saying the words like they’re a synonym for stupid. Hell, maybe if Phil takes two seconds away from his crowded brain he’d realize it has always sounded more fond than patronizing. It just has never sounded _this_ fond before. 

Phil gives in easily, letting Dan guide him back over to the tall horse and focusing on the rising fear in his chest instead of the affectionate tone Dan’s taken on. 

Because it’s not affectionate. Phil is just projecting after so much time alone, and at least the fear he feels is something tangible - his hands starting to shake slightly, one still in Dan’s firm but gentle grasp. 

“It’s okay,” Dan coos. It should be embarrassing to realize that it’s directed at Phil and not the animal, but Phil needs the reassurance too much to feel shameful. “He’s very sweet, one of the sweetest horses I’ve worked with. And he likes you a lot, Phil,” Dan hums. He lifts their hands to hold up to Moon’s nose. “Let him give you a sniff anyway, it’s a good habit to get into.” 

Phil doesn’t need to be getting into habits here, but he lets Dan guide him. He jumps, just a tiny bit, giggling as the curious horse’s nose tickles at the back of his hand. 

Dan hums soft encouragement, a large, warm hand ghosting at the small of Phil’s back. 

“See? It’s not that bad,” Dan gives Phil’s hand a squeeze. “Now,” the volume of his voice increases as he guides Phil down to the horse’s middle, “you just go like this.” In one firm, fluid motion Dan swipes the brush over the horse. “You want to be gentle, but you’re not going to do him any good if you’re _too_ gentle so don’t be afraid.” 

“Feel that pressure?” Dan moves their hands again, and Phil nods tentatively as he focuses on the weight of Dan’s hand pressing down on his. “That’s exactly what you want. And you always go this way,” Dan moves their hands again, “with the grain.” 

Dan stands behind Phil, one hand softly at his back and the other squeezing over Phil’s, brushing the horse a few times in quick, swift motions. 

“You think you got it?” Dan asks, his voice in Phil’s ear. 

Phil doesn’t really want Dan to let go of his hand, nor does he want the hand on his back to leave, or the general presence of Dan behind him to go, but he nods anyway. He shouldn’t be getting used to any of those things. 

“I think so,” Phil hums. He cases his point by taking the lead, tentatively guiding Dan’s hand over his own as he brushes the horse himself. 

Dan pats at his back, letting go of his hand. “You got it. Go ahead and do his other side as well. I’m going to grab his tack.” He steps away and Phil stiffens a bit, eyeing the horse carefully before turning to look at Dan. 

There’s that fond smile again, those big, round brown eyes. Phil forgets the words that were about to leave his mouth. 

“He’s standing so good and still for you, aren’t ya boy?” Dan coos at the horse then looks back at Phil. “You’ll be fine,” he rolls his eyes before starting to step backwards, towards the entryway between two of the stalls that leads off into another room. 

It’s just Phil and the horse now, but Dan doesn’t leave them entirely alone. He chatters to Phil as the sound of clanging metal and leather join the soft, repetitive brushing of bristles against horse hair. 

He learns that only one of the horses here actually belongs to Dan. Though Dan says he isn’t quite sure what to think of Moon. He still doesn’t know where the fuck he came from - Dan’s exact phrasing - but it’s been some time and no one seems to be missing him, so he has a home at the ranch for now. Dan tells him that he does that far more often than he should, but he has a soft spot for rehoming unwanted horses, so he’ll always take them in as long as he has the space. And if he doesn’t, he’ll always find someone that will. 

Dan has a full house now with the addition of Moon, the rest of the barn taken up by client horses that rotate out as he works with them and a few boarders. Dan laughs and explains what a boarder is while he throws a black pad over the horses back, then he laughs some more as he also explains every step he’s taking as he tacks the horse up. 

It all might be going in one ear and out the other, Phil barely understanding the things Dan is passionately talking about at a mile a minute, but he does listen intently. He runs his fingers through the horse’s multicolored mane absentmindedly, trying to stay out of the way as he watches Dan. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until Dan catches his eye, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips, eyes flicking from Phil’s eyes to his hand. 

“You want to take him for a spin?” Dan asks as he checks the girth on the saddle one last time, patting at the horse’s neck when he pops back up to look at Phil. 

Phil shakes his head fervently. “Absolutely not.” 

“Alright, baby steps,” Dan laughs. 

“No baby steps, no steps at all,” Phil pouts. Just because he’s no longer shaking at the sight of the horse does not mean he’s ready to hop right on. They’re still too big and scary and suspicious. And Phil does not have a death wish. 

Dan rolls his eyes, then he’s up and over in a flash, startling Phil as he gets up onto the horse’s back. 

“Well I’ve been told I’m an excellent teacher if you ever want riding lessons,” Dan places a hand on Moon’s neck and leans down as much as he can to be eye level with Phil. Phil still has to look up to keep his gaze, what with the horse’s height combined with Dan’s. “They say I’m especially good with the children, I’d be perfect for you.” 

Dan winks and then he’s back up straight and clucking the horse along, leaving Phil speechlessly staring at the back of his black helmet covered head. 

“ _Hey_ ,” Phil whines. 

Dan’s laughter is carried through the barn, even as the horse walks out into the sunlight. Phil’s laugh soon joins it, shaking his head to himself in the now empty barn. The look on his face is smitten, the feeling in his chest matching it. But he doesn’t dissect or accept it, picking up a slight jog to catch up with the boy and his horse. 

Once Phil has grabbed a couple water bottles from the house on Dan’s request, and his sketchpad out of his car, he makes his way over to the large pen Dan has Moon trotting circles in. 

Dan’s shoulders and head are held high, he looks even larger with the proper posture as he warms up the horse. It’s such a stark difference to the more slouched, relaxed sag of his shoulders that Phil has come used to. He gets distracted for a moment, staring at the broad line of Dan’s shoulders, loitering by the open gate. 

Dan smiles at Phil as he loops around, calling out for him to close the gate behind him if he’s coming in, then nodding over to a patch of grass on the far end of the fenced in area - out of Dan’s way. 

The sun is warm on Phil’s face, settling down in the grass with his legs crossed. He tilts his head up, closing his eyes to take in the warmth. A deep inhale. A long exhale. With his eyes closed, all he can take in is the way the grass tickles at his hands and ankles where his jeans are riding up and his socks are slipping down. The sound of hooves beating heavily across the grass. Phil’s slow breathing. Moon’s quick huffs and Dan’s quiet clicks and cooed encouragement. 

There’s something peaceful about it, calming Phil in the way the quiet babbling creek in front of his cottage does. Not even for one moment does it cross his mind that he’s closed himself in with a giant beast. Two giant beasts if you really think about it. But Phil doesn’t really think about it. He flips open his sketchpad on his lap and finds the perfect angle to sketch the big red barn while also still being able to watch Dan fly over jump after jump out of the corner of his eye. 

Dan makes his loops around - jumping and passing by every so often to explain something to a hopeless looking Phil, or to ask for Phil to toss him his water bottle. Time is merely observed by the sun rising higher and higher, the thump of hooves against grass, and the scratch of pencil against paper. 

Phil’s page ends up being a mismatched spread of various little barns, swirls of the puffy white clouds overhead, a dandelion that’s popped up in the grass by his left foot, and - of course - messy horses and their riders leaping across the page. 

He’s never drawn horses before. For obvious reasons. They look clunky and disproportionate on the page. But when he looks up from his weird horses and sees Dan is approaching him on one that looks far more regular - a wide grin as his chest heaves and sweat drips from his curls peeking out from his helmet - Phil thinks he’s up to the challenge. 

Try new things, right? 

“You sure you don’t want a ride?” Dan pats at the horse’s neck with a sweaty, quirked brow. 

It’s Phil's turn to bark out a loud, incredulous laugh - he doesn’t need to shake his head for Dan to know his answer. 

Drawing them is new enough for Phil. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooo boy there's only two chapters left of this and i, for one, do not want to let go of cowboy dan :( in that spirit, i know i've been updating this bi weekly but i thiiiiink I'm either gonna slot the last two chapters the next two thursdays (if i'm feeling saucy) or the next two mondays....it's such a surprise even the author doesn't know!! how fun!! haha, anyways as always big thanks for reading this has been like........actually,,,, my favorite thing to write so it sparks joy in me knowing there's others out there that are enjoying it too :)


	7. Chapter 7

The weeks pass in every octave of laughter. In loud cackles, rolled eyes, and scrunched up noses. In sarcasm and soft encouragement. Long summer days and even longer summer nights pass by. But they don’t feel like they’re simply passing Phil by, he feels like he’s living. 

He feels like he’s living every second of it, dropping down like dead weight on his small cottage mattress each night after driving home from Dan’s or seeing Dan off at his cottage door. 

Phil paints and sketches and laughs and _lives_. 

He learns far more about horses than he really cares to. Once Dan gets going he doesn’t stop - gesticulating wildly, saying so many words all over each other that Phil can barely keep up, going on for hours and hours. And Phil doesn’t dare stop him, because he also learns he loves the sound of Dan’s voice. He doesn’t really care what’s coming out of Dan’s mouth. As long as he’s allowed to sit there and listen to whatever it is, he’s more than fine. 

That… wasn’t a part of the plan here. Falling for a cowboy, rancher, horse trainer- a Dan. But that’s quite alright, because Phil hasn’t fallen for Dan. He isn’t falling for Dan. 

In fact, there’s absolutely no falling happening whatsoever. Dan is too skilled and in tune with his horses to fall and Phil refuses to get on. If you don’t get on, you can’t possibly fall. 

And Phil hasn’t gotten on the horse. 

So Phil hasn’t fallen, and he’s not going to fall. He won’t get on that horse, it’s not in his plan. 

August arrives in too many paintings, though they all seem to have a place now. Hung around the cottage, Dan’s ranch house, Dan’s barn, and even one affixed to an empty spot on the wall of the diner in town. 

That one has a story, but they all do really - each and every one of them. 

Dan had a craving for apple pie, all but bouncing around to get into his truck like a kid excited to go to McDonald’s for a kid’s meal when Phil mentioned he needed to stop into town for a few things at the art supply store. 

Phil really is single handedly reviving the art supply economy in this little town, but that’s a different story entirely. 

Phil got his art supplies and Dan took his slice of apple pie to go. One glance at the look on Phil’s face when he stepped out of Dan’s truck was all it took for Dan to decide. He rolled his eyes and shoved Phil towards the truck bed, giving him a boost up then tossing his newly acquired paper and watercolors after him. 

Dan returned with two slices of apple pie - à la mode, of course - in awful squeaky styrofoam containers and a paper coffee cup filled with water. He placed them beside Phil in the truck bed before jumping in himself. He leaned against the few bales of hay he was too lazy to unload the day before, and watched Phil paint the sunset behind the brightly colored diner sign as he stuffed his face with pie. 

Soft washes of yellow, pink, orange and the faintest blue with the contrast of the retro mint green sign. Odd looks from passers-by as shoulders bumped, Dan cackling in his attempts to feed a fervent Phil plastic forkfuls of apple pie and ice cream. Stomach aches from pie and laughter, Phil accidentally taking a sip out of his paint water coffee cup. 

Dan had said it was the most fun he’d ever had, long after the sun had gone down and the friendly diner waitress had come out and all but begged to have Phil’s painting for the diner wall the second she got a glance at it. 

Phil’s not used to selling his art, so that’s probably why Dan ended up driving them back with another container of a full apple pie in Phil’s hand. That time it was Phil leaning over to shove forkfuls in Dan’s mouth, Dan yelling about road hazards all the way home. 

Phil finds himself laying back in the grass in Dan’s field on the first of the month. The sun above is sweltering, thankfully blocked by the large tree Phil’s resting under. That doesn’t stop the sweat from pooling at his temples though, dripping down to the back of his head as the grass tickles at his bare legs. 

It says a lot, none of which Phil is ready to process, that he has his eyes closed in an open field with about a dozen horses milling about. He doesn’t even flinch as Moon grazes at the grass by his feet. 

The thing is, he’s almost used to it by now. The large field has quickly become a familiar spot. Sitting in the grass to practice sketching the horses, the figures slowly looking less and less like disfigured blobs as Dan works with client horses. 

Dan making his rounds rubbing sunscreen on the lighter colored horses’ noses - the white and pink ones that are prone to burning. Always stopping to grab Phil’s face as well, a large hand around Phil’s jaw as he smears the same SPF stick over Phil’s T-zone. Phil pouts and protests, but he lets Dan do it, because he knows if he doesn’t Dan will be shoving one of his cowboy hats on his head. 

Bringing out some horse-safe popsicles he helped Dan make and getting chased around by multiple excited horses. Screaming while Dan cackles and keeps telling him to not yell around horses, but doing absolutely nothing to stop the antics. 

Kicking off his shoes and running through the sprinkler Dan sets up for the horses to play with on particularly hot days. Slipping and sliding in the muddy grass and pulling Dan with him until both of their soaking wet clothes stick to their skin and there’s more dirt than paint under Phil’s fingernails. 

Picnic dinners on a large, light blue gingham blanket when the sun isn’t as high in the sky. Carrying treats and broken up carrots in his pockets as regularly as his cell phone. Sticking around to help Dan bring in the horses in the evening. It’s almost as if he’s found a home away from his home away from home. That does Phil’s head in when he starts to think about it, so he doesn’t. 

His easel is set up a few meters away, left abandoned with half of the rolling hills of Dan’s property painted on the canvas set up on it. Bits of thick green grass dotted with bright yellow dandelions. Moon was just a bit _too_ interested - nosing at Phil’s shoulder insistently as he tried to paint no matter how many times Phil tried to push him away. Then, his brushes kept slipping out of his sweaty hands. And _then,_ his paint started to dry far too quickly with the sun overhead, so he finally gave up and plopped himself down in the shady spot. He may have green paint all over his hands - and a bit smeared across his forehead from wiping the sweat from his brow - with nothing to show for it but a half finished painting, but he can’t complain. 

Dan is just a stone's throw away. And Phil has been doing exactly that, throwing small rocks and pebbles he finds in the grass at the figure to his left. He’s been hard at work, repairing a worn down fence post in his latest attempts to get through his long list of repairs he’s been putting off in the hours where it’s just too hot to work the horses. 

It’s the opposite of a problem for Phil, resting his cheek against the grass to watch a sweaty Dan in a sleeveless vest swing his hammer against the pole. The view isn’t half bad. All of those articles on the front page of Google calling the town the _epitome of idyllic_ definitely weren’t wrong. 

His fingers in the grass come in contact with another pebble and Phil chucks it Dan’s way. 

“If you don’t…” Dan calls, turning around mid swing to glare daggers at Phil. 

Phil laughs, his tongue poking through his teeth. He doesn’t remember the last time he smiled with his teeth so much, it wasn’t a habit he got used to back in London. 

“If I don’t what?” Phil teases. He props himself up on his elbows to squint back at Dan. 

Dan waves his hammer around. “I’ll have to come over there!” 

“Oh no! What will I ever do?” Phil wails, dramatically resting the back of his hand over his forehead. 

Dan looks up at the sky as he laughs, giving Phil the perfect opportunity to lob another small rock his way. 

Dan shrieks and before Phil can react, a pebble is thrown right back at him. 

“Horrible boy!” Phil yells as he rolls away in the grass. Dan drops his hammer to run over to the tree, screeching something about Phil starting it. The horses grazing around them, or well, the only horse that’s been sane enough to stick around to this corner of the field while Dan and Phil act like children, looks up with eyes that would be disdainful if horses could actually be so exasperated by two humans. 

Hey,” Dan drops down in the grass next to Phil. 

Phil rolls around, looking up at Dan through the crack in his fingers with his hand covering his face. “Hi.” 

“I think it’s lunchtime,” Dan says. 

“Me too.” 

Dan flops backwards, laying in the grass next to Phil. “Hey.” 

“You said that already,” Phil scrunches up his nose, turning his head to look at Dan. His face is _right there_. Big brown eyes and freckles that Phil can’t seem to memorize as new ones pop up every day. His lips look a bit chapped from the sun and he has a serious case of hat hair - his cowboy hat dislodged when he flopped down in the grass. He’s beautiful. 

Dan laughs, swatting at Phil’s shoulder. “I have a question.” 

Phil smiles. “Alright.” 

Dan looks away from Phil, up at the branches of the tree overhead. 

“Every summer, the second week of August, I go on this overnight camping trip just off my property. It’s kind of a tradition or something, I guess,” Dan shrugs. “It’s a really beautiful spot to go up to and camp. The mountains, the rolling hills, right by a perfect spot of the river. All that good stuff.” 

“And like,” Dan holds his hands up in front of him as he talks. He’s always doing that, Phil’s noticed. “This time of year. If you’re lucky, right at daybreak the wild horses will come running by. My g- I like to call it the Mustang Meadow,” he says with a palpable sense of wonderment in his tone. “The whole herd comes to graze there. I think… I- It’s really something everyone should experience once in their life,” Dan scoots over in the grass to nudge at Phil’s shoulder, “even if you’re a weirdo who’s afraid of horses.”

“Shut up, you’re the weirdo…” Phil says in a soft voice. “Horse boy!” 

Dan snorts “Horse boy?” 

Phil nods his head, his hair is probably going to be covered in grass and hay at this point. He doesn’t really care. 

“So what about this mustang island?” Phil asks once they’ve somewhat contained their laughter. 

“Meadow,” Dan says. 

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what I said.” 

“No it’s-” Dan shakes his head, smiling wide. He sighs dramatically. “Well, I was wondering if you would want to come with me? You can bring your paints, or whatever you want, see something other than my lousy fields and your wooded garden.” 

“Your fields are beautiful,” Phil protests. 

“Not as beautiful as what’s out there,” Dan sits up, grabbing Phil’s arm and tugging him with him. He points out to the mountains just beyond the rolling hills of his property. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to go though, I usually go alone and I quite li-”

“No,” Phil interrupts, “I’ll go. I’d like to go.” He nods his head with the words, maybe more so convincing himself that his words are true than Dan. Camping, out in the wilderness. Not exactly a thing Phil does often. And for good reason, he doesn’t see the appeal. 

But spending time with Dan? Dan wanting to take him on what seems like a special trip, a tradition, something that seems to mean something to him? 

All good reasons to say no. But of course, he can’t. 

And the look on Dan’s face, his beaming smile as he asks if Phil’s sure and Phil nods again, makes it all worth it. 

It’s probably stupid and irresponsible, and it’s definitely only going to make this all hurt so much worse at the end of this. Though Phil muses that he’s probably already too far gone for a camping trip to make much of a difference, what with all these long days and nights spent together. This friendship is becoming far more meaningful than he could’ve ever planned. And he didn’t plan for it. Not at all. 

Phil’s not so sure if that’s a good thing or not yet. He guesses he’ll have to see when the summer, and Phil’s time in Canada, comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for undisclosed reasons, but i know there's a certain reader out there who might be like "hey wait a minute...." when she realizes, the next and FINAL chapter will be up next thursday!!! I am so so so so appreciative of everyone enjoying this au I love it so much and this has genuinely been one of my favorite things to write so it just makes me very happy!  
> ALSO can we chat for a moment at how wild Eli has been going with the cowboy dan artist phil art????????? I've decided to lay my life down for her and if you don't follow and shower her art in love what are u even doing?? Like  
> [seriously](https://twitter.com/Lovelydeps/status/1263610128613478401?s=20) look at [what she's been up to](https://twitter.com/Lovelydeps/status/1264702290088341506?s=20) !!! Look at  
> [cowboy Dan!!!!!!!!!](https://twitter.com/Lovelydeps/status/1263966745175474182?s=20) God okay I'm crying again I'll see you punks next week!


	8. Chapter 8

The alarm on Phil’s phone blares for the first time all summer, Phil groans as he rolls over and pats his hand around to locate his phone and shut it off. For a moment, in all of the fifteen seconds before he blinks his eyes open, the alarm makes him think he’s back in London - what with not needing an alarm to wake him up for work and falling into the routine of the sun’s morning beams waking him while in his little cottage in the woods.

As his hazy morning vision clears - the most it can without his glasses or contacts in - he’s met with warm wood instead of stark white. Definitely not back in London. 

Phil doesn’t analyze why he sighs in relief at the realization. 

He’s woken up fairly early all summer, it’s interesting to see how much of a morning person he’s turned into when he isn’t being _forced_ to be up with the sun. The alarm was set last night though, Phil not entirely sure if he could trust himself to be up as early as Dan wanted - asking for him to come around at daybreak so he can help Dan pack their meals before they get on their way. 

They were going to do it last night, but they lost track of time. They drove into town together after dinner at Dan’s little kitchen table, and Phil still blames all the sugar in Dan’s - surprisingly not fizzy - homemade lemonade for their actions. The two of them were all but bouncing off the walls of the small general store as they shopped. The sole employee looking on with a careful eye and a soft smile as they giggled and bickered over all the sweets Phil kept trying to sneak into the basket hooked on Dan’s arm. 

In the end, Phil got his marshmallows, Dan’s smile actually, somehow, brightened after having a more than two word conversation with the store’s employee as they checked them out, and the sun was quickly disappearing by the time they pulled back into Dan’s ranch. 

Maybe it would have made sense for Phil to just stay over in Dan’s big, empty ranch house with how insistent Dan was on leaving early for their trip, but he didn’t. There was really no reason to when Phil’s cottage is just down the road. 

And besides, he still hasn’t packed a bag for the trip anyway. Always leaving it to the last minute, in typical Phil fashion. 

With that task looming over his head, Phil doesn’t have his usual lie in wrapped up in his duvet. Instead, he’s quick to get out of bed and into the shower. 

He’s actually… excited? 

Phil thinks that’s the feeling making butterflies flutter around in his chest and stomach. That, or all the acid and sugar of Dan’s lemonade last night gave him indigestion. 

All of Dan’s babbling and ranting about how beautiful the camping spot is and how fun it’s all going to be has rubbed off on him, he guesses. He’s still not at all the rugged outdoorsman type, even with all the time he’s been spending outside, so camping still seems a bit questionable at best. But he’s excited. 

It wouldn’t be the first thing he’s been hesitant about that Dan made him realize he actually enjoys. He hopes it won’t be the last. 

Phil doesn’t think about September fast approaching as he lathers his sweet-smelling shampoo into his overgrown hair. Deadlines, expiration dates. The only ones he's paying any mind to are the stamped letters on the side of his milk in the fridge. 

His only worries as he exits the shower wrapped up in a few towels involve what the hell to pack for an overnight camping trip. The present. No thoughts about the past or the future that is any further than the end of this weekend. 

He’s gotten good at that lately. It’s not like he’s eradicated his anxiety all together, that would be the type of unbelievable miracle that the townsfolk praise Dan for with their horses. But his constant worrying and lamenting over the future _has_ taken a back burner since getting away. It’s less about the fresh air, or even the new company he’s been keeping… Who knew taking the time to put yourself first, listening to your own body and mind’s cries for help, could actually make a difference? 

But Phil isn’t overthinking those things right now. A clear mind, that’s what he’s here for and he’d quite like to keep it that way. 

Promptly ignoring the voice in his head that points out _something_ that’s been clouding up his mind at all hours of the day, everyday, Phil opens the drawer of the wooden dresser in his room and starts to rifle through his clothes. 

He pulls on a pair of pants and his denim shorts and tosses another pair of each into his backpack. After standing in front of his options, shirtless, with his hands on his hips and his lips in a contemplating pout, he throws on his black tee shirt with _vibes_ across the chest and grabs another random graphic tee to throw in his bag. Phil feels a bit useless as he tries to figure out what else to pack. A few toiletries, probably too many mismatched pairs of socks for one night, and a pair of pajama pants are added to the bag. 

It feels suspiciously light when he picks it up to carry out of the room. 

That’s changed easily enough though, the addition of Phil’s sketchbook, his watercolors he’s become increasingly fond of lately, and a pad of watercolor paper among his two pencil cases stuffed full of all the charcoal, colored pencils, and brushes he could ever need. 

Phil quickly stirs instant coffee into steaming water, burning his mouth as he sips it quickly - trying to stave off the headache prickling behind his eyes from taking too long to have it, as well as saving some time. He really should have packed his bag last night. 

But he’s not all too late, the sun only just barely peeking through his windows as he sits on the wood floor to pull on his shoes. Because he can’t just slip on his trainers anymore, Dan insisting a few weeks ago that he either invest in or borrow a decent pair of boots. Phil’s trainers, that were once white in another life, now sit pitifully by the front door. Dan’s old brown boots fit snug and surprisingly comfortable on Phil’s feet. They didn’t even need breaking in. 

There’s still a slight chill clinging onto the early morning air and Phil takes the porch steps in one long step, quick to hop in his car and get it running. The effects of his hastily drunk cup of coffee start to course through his veins on the ride up the dirt road to Dan’s ranch. He’s fully awake by the time he pulls up next to Dan’s truck, buzzing with both nerves and excitement. 

Dan’s standing at the threshold of the porch when Phil steps out of his car, donning a big lopsided smile and that silly black cowboy hat as he leans against the doorframe. He has dark jeans on, with big, blown out rips at the knees, and that light washed denim jacket of his over a black tee. And he looks like he would be about to say something incredibly Western and stereotypical like ‘Howdy partner’ or ‘Yee-haw!’

Phil snorts to himself with the thought, hiding his mouth behind his hand to stifle his giggles as he walks up to the porch. 

“Oh, Phil,” Dan says in a soft voice, shaking his head. 

Phil quirks a brow. He stops short in front of Dan with his head cocked to the side, giving him a quizzical look. 

“Good morning to you too?” 

Dan rolls his eyes. “You’re adorable. You really think you’re gonna ride in that?” 

Phil isn’t able to process any words out of Dan’s mouth besides ‘ride.’ He must look at Dan with his eyes bugging out of his head, because Dan shakes his head again as he lets out a loud hoot of a laugh. 

Phil pouts. 

“We’re not- I thought…” Phil looks over at Dan’s truck, then back at Dan with pleading eyes. 

“Obviously we’re riding, Phil,” Dan says like it’s simply that. The most obvious thing in the world.

Dan steps through the doorway to pat at Phil’s shoulder. “There’s no roads where we’re going, bub.”

“I don’t ride horses Dan. They have suspicious eyes,” Phil’s bottom lip juts out further, crossing his arms. 

“It’ll be fine,” Dan looks right into Phil’s eyes, gripping at Phil’s shoulder with a big, gentle hand. “I already have Moon and Cap tacked and packed up and ready to go. Look me in the eye and tell me Moon has ever given you anything but a gaze of pure affection.” 

Phil huffs, considering the cons of trying to lie to Dan just to prove a point. 

The thing is, he’s not really afraid of Moon anymore. He’s still hesitant from time to time, but the horse has managed to wiggle his way into Phil’s heart. Phil isn’t sure how it happened, but he’s also not sure how he ended up spending pretty much every day of the past few weeks with Dan on his ranch. There seems to be a theme here. 

“Thought so. You’ll do fine on him.” Dan lets go of Phil’s shoulder with one last pat. “And I can just pony you along if you’re not comfortable actually riding,” he adds as he starts to turn towards the door. 

“Hey,” Dan turns back around, looking at Phil with a soft expression. “What’s that thing you’re always saying?” 

Phil sighs, acquiescing under Dan’s gentle gaze. “Try new things?” he answers in a small voice. 

“Try new things!” Dan beams. “Now, come on in. There’s a bowl of cereal with your name on it and I need to get you into some appropriate leg-wear,” he adds as he turns and opens the screen door. 

Phil shakes his head, taking a deep breath in to dramatically let it out. But he follows after Dan. Of course he does. 

“I hope you’re not expecting all of this to fit in that bag,” Phil calls from the kitchen, his voice hopefully carrying to whatever room Dan disappeared to after tutting at the contents of Phil’s backpack. Apparently Phil really does not know how to pack for a camping trip, that’s one thing he knows for certain. He tries one last time to fit all of the prepared food in the small pack Dan set out on the counter, but only manages to get half of it in. 

“I got it,” Dan’s voice makes Phil jump, turning and clutching his hand to his chest. 

“Sorry,” Dan laughs, stepping through the kitchen entryway. “I’m the Tetris master when it comes to packing saddle bags,” Dan says as he trades the sandwich in Phil’s hand for a pair of black jeans and a hat that looks almost identical to the one on Dan’s head. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dan adds before Phil can even open his mouth. “You can’t ride in those shorts and you’re going to need a hat. I don’t want to stop every five minutes for you to put sunscreen on that pasty face of yours.” 

“You’re lucky you’re s- such a joy to be around,” Phil catches himself, huffing out the words as Dan snatches the hat off the folded jeans and plops it over Phil’s meticulously styled quiff. 

“Oh am I?” Dan pats the top of the hat, pushing it down until it sits snug on Phil’s head. He reaches around to adjust the string at the back of Phil’s head and winks. 

Phil rolls his eyes. Dan is even cuter when he's up this close in Phil's face, but Phil doesn't vocalize that thought either. 

“Sorry I seem to have mispronounced terror,” Phil says, scrunching his nose at Dan before he steps away. 

“I’m a delight and you know it,” Dan wiggles his hips as he starts to repack the bag on the counter. 

“Now that’s a funny way to pronounce menace.” 

“Shut up and go see if my jeans fit over that butt of yours.” 

“What are you insinuating, Daniel…” Phil says with an air of innocence, but a devilish grin creeps across his face. 

“Don’t,” Dan warns. 

“I know my hips don’t lie, but I didn’t know you thought I was bootyli-”

“Shut up!” Dan cackles loudly. “Shut. Up.” 

Phil just giggles, holding the jeans up to his face to hide his ridiculously goofy smile as he backs out of the room. 

“I can’t believe I’m voluntarily spending the weekend with you,” Dan calls after him. 

“You’re the one who asked me!” Phil calls back. “I distinctly remember the words _I’m so glad you’re coming, Phil! Oh Phil, it’s going to be so fun!”_ he mocks Dan in an obscenely overdone posh accent. 

“I don’t know that man, I don’t associate with that man, I’ve never met a Phil in my entire life.” 

“You’re so annoying,” Phil mutters, mostly to himself. Something even fonder than the smile plastered on his face blooms in his chest. It settles there, lingering like a warm hug, as he starts to wiggle out of his shorts to change into Dan’s jeans. 

The sun is higher in the sky by the time Dan has sufficiently Tetris’d their supplies and Phil has decided he’s ravaged enough of Dan’s cereal. Dan won’t admit to it, but his little online shopping habit means he always has the good stuff - the brand name cereal Phil has been yearning for ever since moving here. 

_“Sometimes I think you only hang out here for my cereal.”_

_“Well, you’re not wrong.”_

Fear decides to join the bubbling concoction of nerves and excitement stewing in Phil’s stomach as he paces the barn floor, watching Dan strap the last bag to his horse’s saddle. 

The barn is empty, Dan not having any client horses over the weekend and his boarders already out in the field - one of their owners stopping by to check in on them while Dan’s away. Dan mentioned it so casually as they walked over to the barn that Phil wouldn’t have raised a brow if it weren’t for the fact it was the first time Dan’s ever made any mention of having help around here. 

Phil didn’t push it though, his increasingly sweaty palms distracting him as he looks at the two horses all tacked up and ready to go. Dan’s large, chestnut colored horse, Cap, is in his big black saddle with little ornate silver details that Phil has seen him in countless times now. This time though, with the addition of a few black bags strapped to it. The spotted black and white horse standing next to Dan’s horse is giving Phil a suspicious eye, one of his ears flicked back as he watches Phil pace back and forth. 

“You’re going to give him a complex,” Dan says, nothing but mirth in his tone. “You’re giving _me_ a complex.” He double checks the clip on the bag behind Moon’s saddle - nearly identical to the one on Dan’s horse, just brown instead of black and a little less worn looking - and turns to face Phil. His words are teasing but his expression is understanding, open. 

“If it scares you this much, you don’t have to come. I won’t force you. But I think you’ll see it isn’t as scary as your brain is hyping you up to think if you just try getting on.” 

“No, no,” Phil shakes his head. “I’m not going to ditch you. I just,” Phil looks from Dan to Moon, then back again, “are you _sure_ he isn’t going to eat me?” 

Dan snorts, his hand flying up to cover his mouth, quickly muttering a small, “Sorry, sorry.”

Phil can’t help but crack a smile as well, determination starting to push the fear away. 

“I can promise that it isn’t physically possible for him to eat you if you’re sitting on his back,” Dan tries to keep a straight face. 

“Okay,” Phil says after a beat, a desire to impress the cowboy in front of him taking over. “Tell me how to get up there before I change my mind,” he looks at Dan with a small, but determined smile. 

“I’ll give you a leg up,” Dan holds his hand out and Phil takes it, letting him tug him towards the horse. 

“I’m right here, okay?” Dan adds softly before explaining to Phil exactly how he’s going to get on.

Phil’s hand shakes only slightly as Dan wraps it around the saddle horn. Terms Dan is explaining and things he’s pointing out aren’t really sticking in his mind as he focuses on keeping his breathing calm. It isn’t much help that Dan’s warm body is pressed close to him, everything a blur as he’s pushed up onto the horse with a firm hand wrapped around his shin. Phil wobbles once he’s up, completely unbalanced, but then that firm hand is tight around Phil’s thigh, another at his back. 

“I’ve got you.” The warm hand slides down Phil’s thigh until Phil feels it wrap around his boot, guiding it into the stirrup hanging off the saddle. “Can you get the other one in?” 

Phil nods slowly, his grip on the saddle horn - now with both of his hands - turning his knuckles white. His toe is already kicking at the stirrup on the side Dan isn’t pressed up against, so he easily slides his foot into it. 

“Good, you're doing great. You can open your eyes now.” 

Phil hadn’t even realized that he’s been squeezing them tightly shut. His face is burning hot, cheeks deepening from a light pink as he hesitantly opens his eyes. 

The perspective is completely different - taller, higher. Phil gasps, gripping the saddle horn tighter and wobbling a bit. 

“You’re okay,” Dan says softly, the hand returning to Phil’s thigh. He rubs at it gently and Phil focuses on that instead of his impending doom. 

“Can you do something for me now?” Dan asks after a solid two minutes, once Phil is no longer shaking under his touch. 

Phil’s voice is small. “I… I think so?” 

“Okay. I want you to sit back so you’re not so off balance. Your feet are in your stirrups and I’ve got you so you’re not going to fall if you move.” 

Phil hesitantly shifts, moving all of half a centimeter. Dan’s laugh is deep, but it doesn’t sound mocking. 

“Come on,” Dan huffs a laugh as Phil yelps, because he’s now manhandling Phil on the horse, pushing him back and to the side until Phil is able to sit up completely straight without wobbling. 

“Oh,” Phil says once Dan’s hands are gone. “This is… better.” His grip on the saddle horn loosens experimentally, but only with his left hand, the right stays firmly death-gripped to the horn. 

“Am I allowed to say I told you so?” Dan asks, patting at Phil’s thigh. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Okay, I’ll just think it then.” 

“Fuck you,” Phil quips, but there isn’t a hint of malice in his voice. 

Dan shows him the ropes. He’s patient and gentle, but he still lets the sarcastic remarks fly. He makes Phil dismount, then get back on again, and with Dan’s hand hovering over his leg Phil’s able to do it all by himself - his eyes open this time. Dan pries Phil’s hands off the saddle horn and wraps them around the thin leather reins instead, talking him through every step of the way as he shows him how to hold his hands, how to hold himself, what ways to guide the reins, and how soft the pressure is that he needs to give the horse with his feet. 

As Dan coaches Phil through small trotted circles, the invisible weight on Phil’s chest gets lighter and lighter. He’s not entirely confident, and definitely not sure of his movements, but it’s significantly less scary than he’s been hyping it up to be in his head. He’s high up, on a giant beast, but he feels surprisingly… in control? 

Moon listens completely, responsive to the slightest tug of the reins and the lightest pressure against his side. It actually feels less like Phil is controlling the horse, and more like the two of them simply understand each other. Whether Phil likes it or not, there’s some sort of connection there. 

It’s funny how these things happen - Phil never feeling more in control of himself and his life when he relinquishes control completely. He would have a laugh about the whole situation if he wasn’t so focused on listening to Dan’s instructions and words of encouragement. 

“So do you think you can do this?” Dan asks once Phil’s made his tenth successful, unassisted circle just outside the front of the barn. 

Phil bites his lip, pulling up on his reins as he tells the horse a soft, low _whoa_ just as Dan taught him. He nods his head, Dan patting at Moon’s nose when he steps out from the middle of the circle. 

“It isn’t,” Phil thinks his words carefully, “that bad?” 

“Are you asking or telling?” 

Phil rolls his eyes. 

Dan is absolutely beaming, his eyes bright and his smile wider than Phil has ever seen it as the rays of the morning sun shine on his face. The feeling of accomplishment Phil feels in his chest as he looks down at Dan - a rare occurrence that he’s actually looking _down_ at Dan for once - is so strong. 

He doesn’t think it’s entirely about getting over his fear of being on a horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like absolutely no one should be surprised that i once again confidently said i'd get a chapter out on a certain day and it would be the last yet here i am changing the chapter numbers and posting this a few days late. could you consider my consistent inconsistency as..... consistent?  
> writing has been tough for me lately as i just don't have the time and haven't been in the right headspace to turn to that escapism so that was a big reason for the delay, but also from the start i kept trying to shove way too much into this last chapter instead of just making it two chapters so i finally caved and split them. i'm trying - quite slowly - to get back into the swing of things and even just take half an hour or so a day to write, but this has been pre-written for a while, and i have a handful of other pre-written things that just need editing to put up as well so there's that !  
> as always if you ever want to give me a shout you can find me over on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sierraadeux) i'm on there far more than anything else and also have been sharing a lot of resources and places to help over the past week (and will continue to do so) also i am pretty much sharing daily cute beau pics from animal crossing now that i have the game and him on my island <3 
> 
> big big big belated happy birthday to juliet <3333 without her this story probably wouldn't exist canada cowboy dan loves u so much !!!!!
> 
> and speaking of people who this story wouldn't exist without can i take a second to mention that eli has, once again, stolen my heart with her [art](https://twitter.com/Lovelydeps/status/1269050775029809158?s=20) of this au !!! i see so many people saying they're reading because they saw her art and i am literally a puddle of tears over it <33333 
> 
> and check out this [cowboy dan](https://www.instagram.com/p/CArC_V7AVGE/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) as well!!!!!! i support cowboy dan and cowboy dan enthusiasts 110% !


	9. Chapter 9

They set out not long after, Dan triple checking that they haven't forgotten anything and Phil making one last trip to the bathroom despite Dan’s eye rolls and _you know you’re going to have to stop and use a tree at some point_ reminders. It’s not the same for Phil, and if he wants to have a proper goodbye pee in a real toilet that’s well within his so-called _city boy_ rights. 

The weather has cooled down significantly with the previous week’s scattered thunderstorms, but not enough for Phil to regret only wearing a tee shirt. It’s perfect actually, he isn’t dripping in sweat out of the shade, but the breeze blowing through the trees surrounding them doesn’t make him shiver either. 

The sun is warm on his skin as they ride side by side through Dan’s fields - Phil’s horse more playing follow the leader with Dan’s instead of Phil doing any significant steering, leaving him free to whip his head every which way at the sights and sounds all around. 

The sky is a shade of blue Phil thought only existed in his paintings before coming here, little wisps of clouds breaking it up but never overtaking the sun. There’s a similar treatment to the grass underfoot, a bright yellow-green that starts to grow higher the further they travel from the ranch house - Dan making jokes about getting goats or a whole fleet of horses one day to keep the back fields in check. 

Phil spends far too long trying to make the perfect goat sounds as the horses flick their ears - clearly annoyed with his antics - and Dan gasps that he’s going to attract bears through breaks in his loud laughter. That shuts Phil up quick, genuine concern in his eyes as he stares at Dan’s blank, unreadable expression. It takes a good twenty minutes for Dan to convince Phil he was joking, then another hour of debate over what exactly is “bear spray” and if Dan’s bluffing or not about the canister in his saddle bag. And he’s definitely not bluffing when he threatens to round up Phil with his horse and the rope that’s clipped to his saddle by his thigh. 

They laugh more than they talk, but that’s nothing new. 

Phil points out the same birds Dan has been seeing pretty much all his life, as if they’re some kind of new species, and Dan humors him. There’s a full hour of Phil’s dramatic retelling of the lives and drama of the pigeons who lived with him on his old flat’s balcony. Dan jokes that Phil looks really young for his old age of eighty and Phil curses that he can’t push Dan off of his horse without falling off himself. But even then, Dan seems genuine when he asks if Phil misses Paul and his pigeon family. 

The “ _Of course I do_ ” leaves Phil’s lips without a second thought. But as Dan changes the subject, pointing out a spot off in the distance where he thinks he’d like to stop for lunch and to water the horses, Phil wonders if that’s really the truth. 

It’s a bit of a loaded question isn’t it? As Phil thinks it’s less and less about his indoor bird watching and more about something else entirely, he knows his answer isn’t right. 

Because he doesn’t. It hits him so hard, he’d fall off his horse if it were a tangible blow. He doesn’t miss London in the slightest. In fact, the thought alone starts to fill his previously floaty chest with rising dread. 

Phil doesn’t want to go back. 

He wants to keep trying new things, but the thing is, he thinks he only wants to try them here. He doesn’t want to go back to London and get a new flat and a job there. He wants to do that here. Hell, he doesn’t even want to find a new flat. He doesn’t want new pigeons or new loud neighbors to eavesdrop on. He’s grown quite fond of his little cottage. And not because it’s safe or because he’s gotten used to it. Not because he’s stuck. But because he wants to live there. He wants to be here. 

He wants to mount a new television to the wood paneled wall in the lounge and fix all of the loose hinges on the cabinet doors in the kitchen. He wants to buy a bigger, comfier mattress and a new bed frame. He wants to collect his gaming systems, boxsets, and his silly little figurines and plushies stored at his parents’ and bring them home. 

He wants to act like thinking of the cottage as home surprises him, even the tiniest amount. But it doesn’t. 

Phil wants to job search here. Find something that will support him in his passions instead of suppress them. He could start a life here. If he wanted to. Does he want to? 

If he goes back to London, he’ll go right back to the way things were before. He knows it’s true. He’s kidding himself if he ever lets himself believe otherwise. 

So what’s holding him back? 

He’s been so dead set on ignoring the future he hasn’t even realized - not until now, he thinks - that not going back could be an option. It’s not the easy path, it’s not the safest route, it’s not the Phil thing to do. The deadline that’s been looming over his head all summer has never seemed closer, while also feeling so far away. 

There’s somewhere Phil _belongs,_ and he’s going to have to work incredibly hard to convince himself that it’s London. 

“Phil?” Dan shakes Phil out of his own mind. “Have you even been listening to me?” he asks with a tone full of mirth. 

“Yeah, yeah. Something about bulldogs. I love their wrinkly faces.” 

Dan snorts, “I was telling you about the local rodeo, but close enough.” 

Phil’s face goes bright red, the 100 SPF on his face and cowboy hat on his head removing any chance for excuses. 

Dan waves him off. “We’ll cross the river right up there, then take a break for lunch. I can tell I’m losing you,” he laughs. 

The river Dan pointed out before, once barely visible from their distance, is now only a few yards away. It surprises Phil at how much he’s been genuinely zoned out - paying more attention to his own thoughts as he memorizes the side of Dan’s face instead of what’s ahead. Dan was right, Moon is incredibly good at following the leader. Phil gives him a pat on the neck and promises a carrot when they stop for being so good while Phil’s done nothing more than hang onto the saddle horn with a loose grip on the reins. 

As much as Phil is hesitant to follow after Dan from grass, to gravel, then through the river, the horses sure aren’t. His hesitation doesn’t hold Moon back at all, the horse eager to walk over the rocks and splash in the water that only goes halfway up his legs at its deepest point. 

The mist and splash of the water that hits Phil’s exposed skin where the cuffs of his jeans have ridden up is refreshing, and it’s the first time all day that he’s realized he’s broken a bit of a sweat now that the sun is at its highest point in the sky. 

He hasn’t looked at his phone once in hours, tucked away in the small bag strapped around the saddle horn, but he bets he knows the exact time just by the position of the sun. And, well, also the grumbling in his stomach, but he’d much rather think it’s because he’s starting to become a _real wilderness man._

He says this aloud as Dan dismounts his horse and walks to Phil’s side to help him down, earning a loud cackle in response. 

“Well, you are quite the natural. I never would have guessed,” Dan teases as he offers his hand. Phil doesn’t need it, but he takes it anyway. Dan’s hand is warm in his own as his boots make a soft thud on solid ground. 

Phil’s stance is a bit funny, now really feeling the hours they’ve spent on horseback in his thighs.

“I’m joking, actually,” Dan says, dropping Phil’s hand and stepping around him to collect the horses. “I always felt like you’d be a natural, even with those clumsy legs of yours,” he adds over his shoulder as he tests his weight on a few branches connected to a big tree by the riverbank. 

“I think that’s more the horse than me,” Phil shrugs, ignoring the jab as he can’t bring himself to disagree - his middle name should be Clumsy and not Michael. He walks over the rocks on unsteady feet and digs through a saddle bag for that carrot he promised Moon while Dan loops the horses’ reins around the branch he deems acceptable. 

“Yeah, he’s a good boy,” Dan coos. The pat he’s giving Moon’s nose is completely disregarded for an incoming Phil, two halves of a broken carrot in his hand. 

“Except when he’s playing favorites,” Dan mutters, rolling his eyes and grabbing the second carrot from Phil to give to his own horse. 

“I can’t believe you got me on a horse,” Phil says between a bite of his sandwich, once they’ve settled down by the river’s edge. 

They’re party shaded by the tree beside them, but the afternoon sun is blazing. The chilled water of the river on Phil’s toes feels incredible - their socks pulled off and tucked into their boots up in the grass by the horses - and he kicks his foot towards Dan’s to splash his ankles where he’s bunched up the cuffs of his jeans. 

Dan makes a small noise around his own sandwich. Their shoulders knock together as he splashes Phil back. It feels good - both of those things. 

“You know,” Dan hums, wiping the breadcrumbs off his hands before leaning back, his head tipped up towards the sun. “I’ve worked with a lot of horses afraid of people. Cow ponies afraid of cows, trail horses afraid of children, horses scared of water and thunderstorms. And I’d like to think I’m pretty good at what I do.” 

Phil gets lost in Dan’s soft laugh, sounding kin to music harmonizing with the gentle breeze and babble of the river that they have their feet in. It takes a minute for Dan’s words to click. 

He narrows his eyes at Dan, an unamused expression meeting the exact opposite. 

“Are you saying you horse whisperer-erd me?” Phil’s incredulous tone loses its bite with the way he stumbles over the most definitely made-up form of the word. Dan merely lifts a brow as he rolls his head to the side to look Phil in the eye. 

“I’m not not saying that,” Dan says with a lift of his shoulders. “But if I were, are you saying you’re not afraid of horses anymore?” 

Phil sighs deeply, setting down his half-finished sandwich to mimic Dan’s lounged position. The river rocks under his palms are sun-warmed, and not as rough and ragged as one would expect. They’re actually quite smooth. It’s surprisingly comfortable. 

“I’m not not saying that.” 

The smile on Dan’s face is smug, a dimple poking into the cheek Phil can see - Phil knows well enough there’s probably another in the side he can’t. His shoulders shake slightly with his laugh in response, and he tips his head back up to the sky. Something in Phil’s chest swoops at the sight as he stares unabashedly. 

Dan is beautiful, but that isn’t any new news or some sort of sudden realization. It’s just a fact, a simple truth that does laps around Phil’s mind every time he so much as glances in the other man’s direction. 

Dan’s hat is resting in the grass by his thigh, his brown curls are a wild mess pushed up off his forehead from the dozen or so times Phil has watched him obsessively run a hand through it since taking it off. The soft brown catches golden glints from the sun overhead, and Phil doesn’t think about how much he wants to be the one running a hand through it. 

Beautiful somehow seems like a word too small as Phil traces the line of Dan’s jaw with his eyes - from his earlobe with the small silver hoop stuck through it, all the way to his chin tilted up towards the sky. 

Phil isn’t distracted by those brown eyes for once, as they’re squeezed shut to avoid the sun that’s warming Dan’s face. He gets lost counting freckles instead. Tiny little dots collecting under Dan’s eyes, a scattered few on the side of his face. The dimple still present in his cheek looks like a frowny face with the two freckles beside it, but that also isn't any new news to Phil. He’s seen, and drawn, and dreamed of that exact feature far too many times to be keeping count. 

His fingers itch with desire. To draw Dan - not _for_ Dan, he rationalizes in his head as he sits back up. Phil knows it’s a both kind of situation, but he also knows he really shouldn’t be going there. Even if he’s been there since day one, probably. 

“Don’t move,” Phil says as he pushes himself up. 

“Hm?” Dan responds, either listening to Phil’s instructions or too comfortable basking in his warm spot like a cat to even turn his head in Phil’s direction. “Is there a bug on me?” 

Phil huffs out a laugh. “No,” he shakes his head, making his way with careful steps over to where he dropped his backpack by their boots. “I would not be this chill if there was a bug.” 

Dan snorts. Phil doesn’t at all think about how much it makes him think of Dan’s horses. He also doesn’t wonder if the whole _dogs that look like their humans_ thing carries over to horses and their owners as well as he stifles his own giggles and digs though his bag for his sketchbook and pencil case. 

“What’s so funny?” Dan asks. 

When Phil turns around to head back to their spot, he sees that Dan is disregarding his direction, lazily looking over his shoulder at Phil behind him. 

“Nothing,” Phil shakes his head with a smile. Phil doesn’t even realize he’s mimicking the same fond expression on his own face - the one that’s displayed, completely unguarded, on Dan’s face as his eyes follow Phil back to his spot next to him. His mind is too clouded to be thinking about schooling any of his expressions. 

“Stop looking at me,” Phil says once he’s sat back down, flipping open his sketchbook to a mostly clean page towards the back. He isn’t looking at Dan, but he can feel his eyes on him, he can see that dimpled smile. 

“Don’t wanna,” Dan hums, sounding not unlike a put out child. 

Phil scoots on his butt until he’s facing Dan and crosses his legs. “I want to draw you. As you were,” Phil waves the pencil he’s just pulled out of his pouch in Dan’s direction. 

“I did not sign up to be a model,” Dan huffs, but he turns his head away from Phil, shifting his weight back on his palms and tilting his chin up again. 

“I don’t have t-” 

“No, no,” Dan interrupts, shaking his head. “I will be expecting fair compensation, though.” 

“Slice of pie when we get back into town?” Phil asks, bending a knee up to rest his sketchbook on. Dan merely hums and Phil looks up from the old scattered flowers dotted around the edges of the paper with a raised brow. 

“Two slices,” Dan says, face up to the sun with closed eyes. Phil doesn’t miss the twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

“And an iced tea,” Phil supplies. 

Dan groans, more of a moan than anything else really, and Phil’s first line on paper is unintentionally harsh. He tries to work with it for a few minutes, while Dan softly hums a tune to himself. It’s incredibly distracting. Dan is incredibly distracting. Phil eventually gives up and digs in his pencil case for his eraser, rubbing out the harsh line and replacing it with something softer. Something more fitting for Dan. 

“Are you hot?” 

“Yeah, you are,” Phil mumbles, more focused on the little frayed bits of the rips in Dan’s jeans than any words he or Dan are saying. 

“You’re not listening to me, are you?” 

Phil looks up from his sketchbook, the page now filled with a similar scene to the one in front of him. “What?” 

Dan huffs, shaking his head as he looks at Phil, “Never mind.” 

Maybe it’s just the heat of the sun getting to Phil’s head, but Dan’s eyes seem to trail incredibly slowly from their locked gaze to Phil’s lap. 

“Are you going to share with the class?” Dan sits up to gesture towards Phil’s sketchbook. 

Phil shakes his head, flipping it shut. “S’not finished,” he lies. He would say he doesn’t know why he does it, but he does.

It’s not like Phil doesn’t show Dan his art - it’s hung all around his ranch, in his barn, and Phil didn’t even bat an eye at the time Dan sat in the middle of his cottage floor and looked through his stacked piles of canvases. But it also has nothing to do with it not being finished. It’s definitely finished, fully rendered - Phil even fixed up the messy flowers that were already on the page, surrounding Dan with the soft yellows and oranges of his colored pencils. 

It just… It reeks of something far too fond, something _more_ than fond, that Phil can’t bring himself to pass it over to be read so easily by Dan. 

Dan shrugs, accepting Phil’s response easily. He looks away and nods towards the river in front of them, “Wanna go for a swim?” 

“A what?” Phil furrows his brows. 

“A swim,” Dan repeats, looking past Phil. “It’s hot, I think we should wait out another hour for the sun to chill out before we set off, and it gets deeper just up there. About up to here,” Dan taps at his chest. 

The afternoon sun _has_ started to make Phil’s temples damp, the only thing that would feel better than the chilled water from the hydro flask they’ve been passing back and forth would probably be dunking in the river. 

But Phil frowns. “I didn’t bring swimming shorts.” 

Dan looks back at Phil, if only to dramatically roll his eyes. “You did bring like fifty pairs of socks and pants though.” 

“I’m not the best packer,” Phil pouts, matching Dan’s dramatics. 

Dan huffs out a laugh, then pushes himself up from the ground. He groans a bit as he stretches - Phil doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting there, he hasn’t looked at his phone, well, all day - before leaning down to grab Phil’s hand and tug him up as well. 

“Come on,” Dan heaves as Phil lets him pull him up. Phil only pouts the slightest bit when Dan drops his hand and turns, looking over his shoulder with an eyebrow cocked in challenge before setting off down the riverbank. 

The pout is impossible to keep up with, not with the way Dan grabs at the back of his shirt as he runs, leaving a trail of clothes in his wake as Phil follows him with wide eyes. 

Try new things, right? 

Phil repeats the sentiment in his head as he watches Dan step further into the water in nothing but his tight, black pants, until they disappear under the water and all he can see is the back of Dan’s head and his freckled shoulders. 

He doesn’t think twice, unbuttoning his- _Dan’s_ jeans and leaving them in a heap with his tee shirt on the rocks. He splashes Dan with his exaggerated movements as he joins him in the water, feeling both the cooling relief of the chilled water and the instant regret of seemingly starting some sort of war as Dan splashes him back with zero remorse. 

They laugh and splash and float - or, well, attempt to float. Laying still enough to do it unassisted proves difficult when you’re constantly giggling and poking and getting poked by the person beside you in the water. 

Eventually they pull themselves out, flopping back on the sun warmed rocks beside their shed clothes - deciding to let the sun give them the same treatment. Dan’s hair somehow dries even curlier than it was before, and Phil’s quiff has seen much better days. The hat hair, the water, and the way he lies on the river bank with his head to the side as it dries - twisting his hair in all kinds of funky directions - doing him no favors. 

That last one is definitely Phil’s fault, unable to look away from Dan, just as Dan doesn’t break their gaze either. He suddenly doesn’t care how his hair looks, or even how silly his bright blue pants with the little white birds all over them are. 

Even if Dan makes a point to point them out and make fun of them. Because he definitely does. 

“God, you _are_ an old bird-watcher man, aren’t you?” 

“Shut up,” Phil shoves at Dan’s shoulder, but it’s as gentle as Dan’s gaze. It’s equally as soft as the laugh that leaves Phil’s lips. 

Phil’s eyes flick to Dan’s lips, dangerously close as they lay shoulder to shoulder on the riverbank. He’s never wanted to close the distance more than in that moment, watching as they part, then close again as Dan holds back whatever words were on his tongue. But he doesn’t move forward, battling the tugging at his heart as he looks back up, meeting warm brown again. 

The pulling pauses, with an almost undetectable intake of breath as Phil realizes how apparent he’s been, how he’s been completely caught out. 

Phil doesn’t say anything, and neither does Dan. They lie in the sun until it’s dried them completely, long glances and few words as they pull their clothes back on and pack back up to set off again. 

Something about it doesn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable, though, which surprises Phil more than it should. Something is said between them, something spoken without words. 

Something in the way Dan steps closer as Phil picks his hat up and puts it back on for him. Something in the way Dan makes sure Phil is watching when his eyes drop lower on his face. Something in the way Dan helps Phil back up on his horse, trailing his hand up from Phil’s calf to his thigh once he’s on, squeezing once before letting go. 

Something that they’ve really been saying all along. 

Phil just needs to figure out what that something is. 

And if he’s going to do anything about it once he does. 

The site Dan stops them at is nothing like Phil had imagined. That isn’t much of a surprise, the extent of Phil’s camping knowledge comes from slasher films and that one time he let his uni mates drag him along for a boozy overnight camping trip. He doesn’t remember that night very well, for obvious reasons. 

But from what he does remember, this is nothing like the marked off dirt plot in the woods amongst fifty other identical marked off dirt plots that people pay to pitch their tents on. 

Dan points the spot out as they stop at the peak of a grassy hill, the rushing river below cutting through the land. Beyond its opposite bank is another grassy meadow that separates the river from the mountains. Phil thought it was overwhelming to see their peaks from a distance, but it’s downright intimidating being this close, even if they have been slowly approaching them throughout the day’s ride. 

It’s like standing at the edge of the ocean or peering out the window of an airplane. A reminder of how insignificant your tiny life really is in the grand scheme of things. 

Phil isn’t sure if that’s necessarily a bad thing as they slowly make their way on a seemingly well-worn path that leads down to the foot of the hill. 

The path isn’t the only thing that acts as a reminder of human life in an otherwise untouched landscape - something they haven’t seen much of since leaving Dan’s ranch. Between the path and the rocky river bank is a small flat grassy patch. A ring of rocks - that have probably been in their spot for so long that they look like nature could have placed them there itself - sit in the middle of a few logs. The grass growing up and around them. 

There’s also a few wooden structures - one right at the edge of where grass turns to stone and the other close to the fire pit - that definitely could not be mistaken for being naturally placed. Though they do look equally as weathered, like they’ve been a permanent fixture in the spot for quite some time. A few posts hammered together to resemble something similar to the hitching rail outside of Dan’s barn - yes, Phil is proud of himself for remembering one of the dozens of new terms Dan has thrown at him all summer. And a sloped roof, lean-to type of structure made out of wooden planks between two tall trees. 

Once again, Phil isn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. Only then, as he surveys the area on the back of his horse, does he have the realization that his early morning brain did not. Those two rolled up nylon bags clipped to the back of each of their horses’ saddles were definitely not large enough to be tents. 

It’s really something he should have realized much sooner with how lightly they were packed. Phil guesses Dan is much more of a distraction than he cares to admit. 

There are a lot of things that Phil knows to be true that he doesn’t care to admit. Most of which are strikingly clear as he doesn’t feel an ounce of worry or fear getting off of his horse. The entire situation screams the opposite of safety and comfort, yet that’s all Phil seems to feel with Dan at his side. 

Sure, he’s been pining all summer, but there’s no way he can deny or ignore it with that flipping fluttering of his heart now stronger than ever. 

Phil has feelings for a cowboy. With how ridiculous the admission sounds in his head, he starts to wonder if he stepped into an alternate universe the second his feet hit Canadian soil. Unbelievable as it is, he knows it to be true. 

Getting put to work isn’t all that bad when it’s coming from Dan - when it’s _with_ Dan. The two of them bumping shoulders and hips as Dan instructs Phil on which buckles to undo and helps ease the weight of the heavy saddles as Phil pulls them off and rests them on the hitching rail. They throw twigs at each other as their feet crunch around the wooded area to the left of the campsite, collecting firewood and scaring off the local creatures with their loud giggles and screeches of the other’s name. 

It’s fun. Every moment Phil spends with Dan quickly becomes the most fun he’s ever had. Even in the most mundane of things - Dan makes picking up sticks, grocery store trips, and simply brewing a cup of coffee so much fun. 

“How do you do the thing?” Phil asks, watching intently as Dan meticulously places the wood they collected in the ring of rocks. He’s not being very much help, sticking little twigs here and there that Dan moves when he thinks Phil isn’t watching, but he still chooses to remain with his knees in the grass by Dan’s side, sitting on his heels instead of on one of the logs behind them. 

“Hm?” Dan hums, placing another stick before looking over at Phil with a confused scrunch to his brows. 

Phil gestures to the fire pit, “When you hit rocks together to make fire.” 

Dan closes his eyes, lifting a hand to squeeze at the bridge of his nose as he laughs softly. 

“Cowboy, not caveman,” Dan says once he’s collected himself, looking at Phil with amusement twinkling in his eyes. 

A wide grin stretches across Phil’s face, and it only goes wider as he sees the instant regret on his face. 

“So you admit you’re a cowboy,” Phil doesn’t miss a beat. He nudges his shoulder against Dan’s a few times, earning a soft shove in response. 

“Watch it, city boy.” The tone of Dan’s words, and the expression on his face, are far too fond for what they are. He squeezes at Phil’s shoulder before using the leverage to push himself up from his squat, turning on his heel once he’s standing to step over to where all their bags were dumped. Before Phil knows it, Dan is chucking a small pink thing towards him. He catches it, just barely, and flips it over in his hand. A simple, hot pink lighter. 

“You can do the honors,” Dan nods towards the fire pit. 

It takes a few tries. Apparently setting a bonfire ablaze is not at all similar to lighting a scented candle. But with a few tips from Dan, and a near eyebrow-singeing disaster, the fire sparks and catches, quickly setting the whole pit ablaze. 

“Can we roast marshmallows now?” Phil asks with wide eyes and an even wider smile. 

Dan chuckles, wiping his palms against his thighs to get the dirt off of them. He holds out a hand to help Phil up. Phil takes it. Of course he does. 

“Not to be that guy, but dinner first,” Dan says and Phil immediately pouts. “If you try to stick a marshmallow near that,” Dan points at the high blaze beside them, “it’ll become charcoal in two seconds. Let it die down a bit.” 

Phil huffs, letting go of Dan’s hand to cross his arms over his chest. “How do you know that’s not the way I like them?” 

Dan rolls his eyes, both of their laughter carrying up over the trees. Not even the mountains could stifle it. 

As the sun goes down, so does the fire. 

Somehow - Phil insists he’s completely innocent - as they make their way through dinner and Phil finally gets to bust out the marshmallows, they end up sitting side by side on the log in front of the fire that faces out to the river. They poke marshmallows on to sticks and lean in to roast them with their thighs pressed together - the fire not being the only source of warmth around Phil. 

There’s a low hum around them, the rushing river, the buzz of bugs, and low calls of birds who wake with the night. It feels nothing but safe though, with Dan beside him, the glow of the fire, and the two horses grazing at the grass a few meters away from where they’re sitting. 

It’s not lost on Phil that pretty much _all_ of those things are something he would argue to be the opposite of safe just a few months prior. For someone that isn’t always so keen on change, that realization alone should terrify him. But oddly enough, he really doesn’t feel like he’s changed all that drastically at all. 

Perhaps that should be what scares him. But it doesn’t. 

“You know,” Phil says around a mouthful of gooey, chocolatey marshmallow goodness, “I didn’t have my first s’more until like, three years ago.” He turns his head to look at Dan, his tongue darting out to catch the graham cracker crumbs and melted chocolate at the corner of his mouth. 

The chocolate and graham crackers were bought at the suggestion of Dan, scoffing once he noticed the many bags of marshmallows Phil slipped into the basket at the mere notion of roasting them without the intention of making s’mores.

“Really?” Dan squints, then leans closer, swiping his thumb against the chocolate Phil missed. His thumb is calloused, but not at all rough against Phil’s lip. Phil finds himself leaning into it, but Dan’s hand is pulled away as quickly as it came. 

“Actually I’m more shocked you _have_ had them. I grew up on summers here having them every other night and never understood why they were such a rarity in the motherland,” Dan muses after he’s pulled his thumb out of his mouth. 

Admittedly, Phil’s mouth is a little more than dry. And it had nothing to do with the graham crackers. 

“Don’t try to tell me digestives are the same, because it’s not the same,” Dan continues, taking in a deep breath in a sign Phil has learned means he’s two seconds away from an hour long rant that will somehow end up in at least two music recommendations Phil won’t remember to listen to and a pitch about adopting socialism. 

“No, you’re absolutely right,” Phil nods. “My family holidays in Florida like, every year,” he explains. “I tried to recreate one in my flat with a candle and digestives after having one for the first time in Orlando and it… did not go well,” Phil hangs his head as Dan cackles. 

“A candle!” Dan hoots. 

“Shut up!” Phil hides his face in his sticky hands. “I thought it would be safer than over the gas hob,” he mumbles. 

“Nothing is safe with you.” 

“You might have a point,” Phil hums. He stretches his legs out towards the fire, appreciating the warmth that spreads up from his toes. 

As the sun leaves the sky, the breeze gets more of a bite. It’s not cold by any means, but the warming comfort of the fire makes him want to lean into it, have it spread throughout his entire body and not just up to his calves. So he does, leaning forward a bit on the log, his arms comfortably hugging around his sides. 

As the fire flickers and pops, Phil zones out. Despite all of Dan’s jokes about being unfit, Phil feels sore in muscles he didn’t even know existed - riding is definitely not just sitting on a horse. He’s definitely learned that the hard way. He stifles a yawn that he feels threaten to come through as he watches the embers float off of the fire and disappear in the air. 

Even though he’s sore and tired, he’s overwhelmingly calm. Actually relaxed, which isn’t a word anyone who knew always in motion, workaholic Phil back home would ever use. 

Phil is so relaxed he doesn’t even register Dan shifting beside him. He’s about to point out how a certain flame looks suspiciously like a dog, but the words die on his tongue as he feels Dan place something around him. 

It’s denim. Dan’s denim jacket to be exact. Large, warm hands linger at his shoulders, giving a squeeze before trailing down the denim, then pulling away. 

Phil really doesn’t want him to pull away. 

“I’m not cold,” Phil says, his actions counteracting his words as he can’t help but follow Dan’s hands until he’s definitely more leaned against his side than just simply brushing against him.

Phil feels, instead of hears, Dan’s deep chuckle. It vibrates against his side and sends tingles throughout his whole body. He drops his head onto Dan’s shoulder, resolve so far gone he briefly wonders when its foot went through the door. 

When Dan moves his arm that’s squished between them, searching for, then grabbing Phil’s hand from under his jacket, Phil decides he doesn’t care. 

“What the fuck?” Dan hums, pulling Phil out of his thoughts. Phil makes a noise of question, but Dan cuts him off. “Your hands are so soft.” 

Phil giggles, pressing himself further into Dan’s side. 

“I moisturize.” 

“Huh.” 

“You should try it sometime.” 

“Hey,” Dan pushes against Phil, “I work with my hands.” 

“So does that also explain your chapped lips?” Phil teases. 

Dan gasps dramatically, whispering a scandalized, “ _You did not,_ ” under his breath. Then, “Spend a lot of time looking at my lips, city boy?” 

Phil can’t see Dan’s face with his head still resting on his shoulder, but he can almost feel the smug grin that’s surely on it. 

“Shut up,” Phil mutters, his cheeks now burning from something other than the close proximity to the fire - or to Dan, who is somehow always _so_ warm.

Dan huffs, shaking Phil against him with the force of his exhaled breath, and squeezes Phil’s hand. Phil squeezes back. 

“I packed a hoodie if you’re cold,” Dan says after a beat of silence - nothing but the crackling fire, the occasional huffing of two horses, and the hushed soundtrack of the forest filling their ears. “I would have packed two if I knew it was going to be cooling down this early already. It usually doesn’t this time of year.” 

“It’s alright,” Phil hums, “I’m not cold.” 

“Can I ask you something?” Phil asks softly from where he’s still tucked into Dan’s side as Dan pokes at the fire with an impressively long stick he found earlier. 

“Mm.” The vibration in Dan’s throat tickles at Phil’s head. “Do you need me to come with you to pee again? Phil, I told you there’s nothing scary out there - nothing that’ll come close with the horses and the fire anyway. But I’ll take you if you need me,” Dan babbles so quickly he doesn’t even register Phil’s protests. He starts to shift to get up, Phil immediately pouting when his comfortable pillow of Dan’s shoulder is taken away, but he finally shuts up when Phil tugs him back down by the hand. 

“No,” Phil huffs. “I don’t need to pee,” he looks at Dan and makes a point to roll his eyes when Dan meets his eye. 

“Oh,” Dan laughs. “Then yeah, what’s up?” He cocks his head with the question. It’s incredibly cute, even in the low-light of the fire and glow of the moon overhead. 

Phil is torn. He wants to keep looking at Dan, but he also wants his pillow back. 

He also knows they both have a habit of skirting around the types of questions he’s been wanting to ask. In Phil’s case, it’s in a desperate attempt to avoid the reminder that this place, Phil being here, Dan and Phil, all have a time limit attached to them. Remembering that though all of this is real - it definitely is, Phil has pinched himself plenty of times, Dan has probably pinched Phil more - it isn’t quite _reality._

Talking about it, well that makes it all real. Especially with the ticking clock he’s steadfast on ignoring. 

In Dan’s case, well, Phil has no idea. 

So that’s why he scoots back over on the log, leans back into Dan’s side, and drops his head on his shoulder. Dan lets go of his hand, the protest in the back of Phil’s throat dying as he feels Dan shift and wrap his arm around his waist instead. He pulls Phil closer and that whine of protest becomes a hum of contentment. 

Right, he was trying to be brave. Or whatever. 

Phil takes in a deep breath and exhales before he gets side tracked again. Dan _is_ incredibly distracting. 

“Why are you here?” 

The circles Dan’s thumb has been rubbing into Phil’s side stops. 

“Well, that’s existential,” Dan says. 

“I didn’t-” Phil sighs, “- I didn’t mean it like _that.”_

“I know,” Dan squeezes at Phil’s side. 

“You mentioned you spent summers here,” Phil says as he stares into the fire. “You’re here all the time now?” 

Dan hums. “Time is fake, but this place has been a permanent home for almost a decade now.” 

“Wow.” Phil would whistle if he could. 

“So like…” Phil trails off, trying to form words in his brain before they come barreling out of his mouth. It’s not lost on him that Dan doesn’t seem to be brushing him off. “How did that even come about?” 

Phil feels Dan’s deep sigh against him, he bites at his lip and keeps his eyes on the crackling fire. He focuses on the warmth of Dan’s hand through the fabric of his shirt. 

“Have I ever told you about Cap?” 

Phil frowns at the flames. It’s funny knowing someone so well to predict how quickly they’ll change the subject, while also feeling like you actually know nothing about them at all. 

Phil looks from the fire, over to the horses. “No, uh, I don’t think so?” He tilts his chin to look at Dan. 

Dan who, in the light of the fire, has a soft smile on his face with his head turned towards where Phil was just looking. Phil has seen that expression before, and not only directed at his horses. The squeeze at Phil’s heart is accompanied by the tangible squeeze at his side. 

“He was a racehorse before he came to me,” Dan says. Phil can’t seem to pull his eyes away as Dan’s smile grows wider, even if it’s not the most comfortable position for his neck. 

“His actual registered name is Double Shot,” Dan grimaces. “His stable name, that’s the name they’ll actually use for the horse outside of races, is Cappuccino. Don’t really like either of those, but he responded to Cap too well for me to even think about changing it when he became mine.” 

“I assumed it was short for Captain. I thought you had like, a thing for pirates or something,” Phil hums. 

Dan laughs, a snort so loud for the hush of the forest that it causes both of the horses to pull their heads up from the grass.

“Here,” Dan says as he nudges at Phil’s side, pulling away when Phil lifts his head up. “I want to show you something.” He’s up off the log, looking down at Phil with an outstretched hand before Phil can even think about the loss of all of that warmth enveloping him. 

Phil takes Dan’s hand - it’s quickly becoming his favorite thing to do - and lets him pull him up and walk him over to the horses. They’re both interested now, Moon stepping forward to nose at Phil’s pockets and Cap flicking his ears forward towards Phil - making sure the other horse isn’t getting anything that he isn’t. 

“I don’t have any treats,” Phil says instead of jumping or shouting. The two of them are friends now, as much as Phil hates to admit it. He isn’t scared anymore. Well, maybe a little. But not enough to run and hide. 

Phil giggles and holds out his empty hands as Moon noses at his sides, trying to convey to the horse that he really doesn’t have anything for him. 

“Don’t lie to him,” Dan scolds from beside him. He’s once again stepping into Phil’s space, slipping a hand into the pocket of the jacket still draped over Phil’s shoulders. When he pulls it back out, he opens his closed fist to show Phil a handful of horse treats. 

Phil rolls his eyes, but for some reason he can’t wipe the wide grin off of his face. “Of course you would.” 

The horses get their treats and Phil completely forgets that Dan brought him over here for a reason as he rubs at the spot between Moon’s eyes while he laughs at the way Dan’s horse uses Dan’s shoulder as a personal face scratching post. 

“You’re so weird,” Dan coos to the horse, holding Cap’s head in his hands and giving him what looks like a hug. “Are you done?” Dan asks, lightly scratching at the side of Cap’s face in the spot he was rubbing against Dan’s shoulder. 

“You two are adorable,” Phil smiles. 

Dan looks up at him with a smirk. “The horse hater shows his true colors.” 

“Your fault,” Phil scrunches his nose at Dan. “Plus, I was never a horse hater. I was just afraid of them.” 

“Mhm,” Dan hums, his smirk the epitome of teasing. He looks back at the horse, patting the side of his neck before pulling his face away from his chest. “Can we show Phil your cool tattoo, itchy boy?” he coos. Cap snorts in response, causing both of them to giggle. 

After a lot more giggling and Dan jokingly scolding the horse for trying to nibble at his fingers, Dan manages to get Cap to stop playing with him long enough to lift his lip and show Phil the faded black string of numbers there. Phil isn’t sure why, but the sight of it makes his stomach feel a bit sour. 

He doesn’t realize he’s frowning until Dan lets go and pats at Cap’s nose, a low hum of agreement in his throat. 

“Does that hurt him?” Phil asks. 

“Anymore? No. When he got it?” Dan makes a face. “It’s just what they do,” he sighs. “They do a lot of things with racehorses that shouldn’t be legal, honestly. Other disciplines as well,” the anger is apparent in Dan’s voice. Phil has honestly never heard the tone out of Dan before, it sends a chill down his spine - and not in a good way. 

“I’ll save you from that rant though,” Dan adds, turning back towards Cap as the horse is bumping his nose against Dan’s shoulder again. “God, do you not get enough attention?” he asks the horse with a soft chuckle before scratching at the side of his face and planting a soft kiss to his nose. 

“Some horses do love it,” Dan looks back to Phil. “Racing, I mean. Some are just born wanting to run and you couldn’t stop them even if you tried. It sucks that people have to ruin it for their own gain. Make it about themselves and not the animals,” Dan frowns. Then he pats at the side of Cap’s neck. “But we’re talking about this guy.” 

“He’s fast, lightning fast. His lineage is like- well, let’s just say that you wouldn’t believe me if I told you how much he was insured for in his prime. He loves to run, but he wasn’t performing for his previous owner. He had all these behavioral issues and temperament problems when they actually got him on the track, and they tried everything only to make it worse. They took him to me as a last ditch effort.” 

“He was uh-” Dan looks away from Phil and back to Cap, hugging around the horse tighter, “-he was the first horse I really worked with on my own.” Dan’s horse bops his head a few times, causing Dan to huff out a small laugh. 

Phil is so focused on the two of them that he doesn’t even realize that he’s shifted his weight onto one foot, leaning against Moon’s side just as he did with Dan by the fire. 

“I didn’t think I could do it,” Dan says, breaking the small moment of silence between the four of them. “I wanted to quit so many times. I thought I wasn’t cut out for it, the whole horse thing. The ranch thing. The being here thing. There were so many times I stormed in from a session so frustrated and defeated I was in tears. I was set on giving up. I packed my suitcases so many nights to just say fuck it all and go back to England, but they were always unpacked by the morning.” 

“And I’m so glad I didn’t give up, because one day it all clicked.” Dan smiles in the glow of the fire. “This guy made me realize two things that day, when I just had enough and sat down in the dirt of the round pen unable to do anything but sob like the failure I thought I was. He went from not listening to me at all, rearing and nipping at anyone who dared to go near him, to walking over and nosing at my shoulder while I had my head in my hands.” 

Dan chuckles softly, looking over at Phil, then back to his horse. 

“That’s when I realized we were the same. He loves to run, but he doesn’t like being told what to do by anyone else but himself. The track made him depressed. That was his problem, he hated racing because it wasn’t his decision. He couldn’t be himself, he couldn’t be a horse, on the track. He doesn’t speak english, he couldn’t say how he was feeling, he could only show it. And no one listened. Until I did. Even though my grandmother always said ‘you don’t whisper to the horse, you listen to the horse’ I still didn’t truly understand what she meant until I finally connected with Cap.” 

“After working with him, I really could only tell the owner that I could work on his behavioral issues and get him to be a sound horse again, but he could never be a racehorse. A trail horse or a pleasure horse, maybe. I’d have to find out what it was that he wanted to do, but at that point I knew it wasn’t racing. And any good horse trainer, or whisperer, or whatever the fuck you want to call me would say the same. So I ended up buying him. I took him off the owners hands for next to nothing, because he said he had no use for a depressed racehorse. He had no attachment or interest in keeping him around.” 

“I’ll never understand people like that.” Dan huffs out a laugh, “I get emotionally attached to weekend boarders on the ranch and sometimes cry when they go back home.” 

“It was the best call I’ve ever made. Keeping him around. Turns out he just really wanted to be a ranch horse,” Dan beams. “We have our good days and our bad days, but who doesn’t? And even though it started off rocky, there’s been more good than bad lately, huh Cap?” he coos as he rubs at Cap’s neck. 

“I don’t know anything about horses, but I can tell he really loves you,” Phil says. 

Dan looks back up at him, a soft smile on his face. “You know more than you think.” 

Phil returns his smile. “What was the second thing?” 

“Hm?” 

“You said he made you realize two things.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Dan’s smile grows wider. “The first thing I realized, that day I dropped down into the dirt, was that me and Cap were one in the same. Untreated depression and toxic environments and all that. I helped him and in helping him, I realized I needed to help me too.”

“The second thing though… I think I knew it to be true from that same day as well, but it took me a lot longer to come to terms with it. He made me realize that home wasn’t a place chosen by someone else that I was merely obligated to stay in. Home is here,” Dan moves his hand from his horse’s neck to his own chest. “Home is who you choose to surround yourself with. Where you want to be. And if you’re a weirdo like me,” Dan huffs out a snort of a laugh, “home is with a bunch of horses in Canada.” 

Phil returns Dan’s smile. He can feel the wetness behind his eyes threatening to spill over, hoping that the dim light of the fire isn’t enough for Dan to notice, but that hope is fruitless with the way he sees Dan’s eyes shimmer in the flickering light as well. 

He has the strongest urge to hug Dan in that moment, so he does. Phil wraps his arms around Dan’s middle and squeezes tight. And after a small noise of surprise, Dan reciprocates - warm hands sliding under his denim jacket to press firmly against Phil’s back. 

It doesn’t last long, two insistent horse noses nudging at both of their shoulders until they’re included as well. And with an arm loosely slung around Dan’s waist, and a big chestnut brown horse’s head nosing between their chests, Phil doesn’t at all think about how poignant Dan’s words really are. 

“You weren’t really telling me a story about Cap, were you?” Phil asks. 

Dan huffs, looking at Phil with a soft smile and completely unguarded eyes. “Yeah.” He scratches between Cap’s eyes, then trails it down his nose to Phil’s shoulder. “I’m better at talking to horses than people. Better at talking about horses than myself, my therapist probably hates me TBH,” he says with a laugh. 

“I can relate,” Phil says. “Well, minus the horse thing,” he adds. 

Dan laughs. “You’re different.” 

Phil squints at him, cocking his head to the side. “Yeah?” 

“It’s a good thing, by the way,” Dan adds quickly. “I like it.”

“You too.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Phil nods, sure. “Most people are boring, you’re different.” 

Dan huffs out a laugh, brushing Phil off. “That’s because you’ve never met a cowboy before.” 

“You call yourself a cowboy an awful lot for someone who pouts whenever I say it,” Phil says, raising his brows at Dan. 

“Shut up,” Dan smiles with a gentle squeeze at Phil’s bicep. “It’s the principle of it.” 

“Sure.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You already said that,” Phil smirks. 

The corners of Dan’s eyes crinkle as he laughs. “Well you’re not doing it!” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“I don’t think I want you to either.”

“You’re weird.” 

“I think we already established that.” Dan takes his hand off of Phil’s shoulder and pulls away, but only enough to hold his hand out between the two of them. “Hi, I’m weird horse guy, and you are?” 

Phil rolls his eyes, letting go of Dan’s waist to nudge away the horse nose between them and shake Dan’s hand. “The guy who is very fond of weird horse guy,” he says as they shake. Dan snorts and Cap immediately copies him, setting off a whole chain of belly-clutching laughter. 

“Oh and weird horse guy?” Phil pipes up once their abs are sore and they’ve both caught their breath. 

“Hm, yeah?” 

“Will you come with me to go pee now?” 

Dan huffs, lifting a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Sure, Phil.” 

“What about you?” Dan asks as he rolls out his sleeping bag. 

They had peed, tended to the fire and the horses, and - upon Phil’s insistence - each had one more s’more before brushing their teeth. As they get ready for much needed rest, Phil still isn’t entirely sure about the whole sleeping under the stars thing, but he follows Dan’s lead anyway. 

He copies Dan’s movements with the sleeping bag Dan had tossed him a few minutes prior, laying it out next to Dan’s under the little handmade shelter next to the fire. 

“What?” 

“Why are _you_ here?” Dan clarifies. 

“You asked me to come,” Phil says matter-of-factly. 

“You know what I mean,” Dan waves a hand in the air. “Don’t skirt around the question.” 

Phil lifts a brow, “Like you did?” His tone is more playful teasing than anything else. And as Dan laughs, scrunching up his nose in that cute way he does, Phil is glad he doesn’t take it any other way. 

“Well,” Dan scoffs as he crosses his arms. “That’s valid.” 

Phil steps around the sleeping bags, closing the small distance between them to run his hands down Dan’s arms, uncrossing them with a soft smile on his face. Dan returns it. 

“There’s really not much more to what you already know,” Phil says. 

Dan lifts a brow in question, for some reason the action makes Phil smile wider. That some reason being the fact that Dan is incredibly cute. 

Phil is tired from their long ride, but he thinks he’s more tired of denying whatever it is that’s going on between them. It’s undeniable in the way Dan melts and leans into Phil’s touch. In the way it’s so far past the first time that has happened that Phil wouldn’t be able to keep count even if he tried. 

Dan smirks. “Brooding artist reconnecting with nature?” 

Phil playfully slaps at Dan’s shoulder. “I am _not_ brooding!” 

“Hmm,” Dan hums as he grabs at Phil’s hand on his shoulder. He squeezes around it, looking at Phil with an expression so completely different from that sarcastic smirk it almost gives Phil whiplash. 

“You’re right,” Dan smiles, eyes bright even in the dim lighting of the fire. “You’re more like a ray of fucking sunshine. You and your art coming around here and making everything so colorful.” 

Phil’s face is warm. His hand underneath Dan’s is warm. His entire body is warm despite the cool breeze that gently blows past them. 

Under Dan’s gaze, he feels all too perceived. 

“Interesting coming from the man with a bright blue kitchen,” Phil teases. 

Dan rolls his eyes. “I’ve had it on my mind to paint over them since inheriting the place, but I never get around to it.” He shrugs under Phil’s touch, the line of his mouth tugging up into a soft smile. “The blue’s grown on me lately though, might get it matched to cover that disgusting green in the rest of the house that even your paintings can’t save.” 

“You don’t seem like a blue kind of guy,” Phil hums. “Isn’t black your favorite color? Or grey?” 

“I think I can have more than one, is that fair?” Dan squeezes at Phil’s hand. Phil squeezes at his shoulder in response. 

“I guess that’s fair,” Phil smiles. 

“Hey Dan,” he adds after a beat of silence, the two of them still standing oddly crowded up against each other for being out in the wilderness with acres upon acres of open land around them. Dan hums in acknowledgement. 

“Are you sure bears aren’t going to eat us?” Phil whispers. 

Dan snorts. “What is it with you and things eating you? Are you into v-” 

Phil’s hand is on Dan’s mouth before he can finish his sentence, the other man cackling under his touch as Phil desperately tries to not laugh as well. 

“Absolutely not,” Phil scrunches his nose. Dan mumbles something muffled around Phil’s hand until Phil pulls it away. “Come again?” 

“I _said_ there’s nothing to worry about. I’ve done this trip alone for years now, and as far as I’m aware I’ve never been eaten by a bear.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Dan rolls his eyes. “With the fire and the horses, nothing out there will bother us.” 

“What about ghosts?” 

“Phil, there are no ghosts out here.” 

“How do you know that for sure?” 

“Because ghosts aren’t real,” Dan says matter of factly, almost scoffing with the words. 

Phil gasps. “Take that back, they’ll hear you!” 

Something wicked flashes across Dan’s eyes. He takes a step back from Phil before tilting his head and- 

“GHOSTS AREN’T REAL!” Dan’s voice booms across the forest, up past the trees, echoing at the base of the mountains. There’s a fluttering commotion of some disturbed birds in a nearby tree, and both of the horses look over with flicked back ears. 

“ _Dan!”_ Phil whisper-shouts, but Dan is too busy hysterically laughing to even hear him. 

“Shh, you’ve cursed us,” Phil joins in on the giggles as he all but tackles Dan, pressing close to his body to cover his mouth with a hand again as Dan doesn’t lose that mischievous glint in his eye. 

Dan hums something against Phil’s hand. Then, all of a sudden, Phil’s giggles are no longer voluntary. Relentless fingers poke at his sides until Dan does, actually, land them both on the ground in a rolling, giggling heap of long limbs and gasps of the other’s name. 

By the time Dan is waving the proverbial white flag, Phil gaining the upper hand when he finds the spot just below Dan’s armpits that are so ticklish he’s able to flip them over with ease, their carefully spread out sleeping bags are in complete disarray. They’re just about as disheveled as Dan’s wild curls, as Phil’s quiff that he’s sure is standing up in all directions as the two of them flop back half in the grass with heaving chests. 

Phil turns his head to look at Dan. The red is slowly fading from his face as he catches his breath, but in the dim light he can still see the bright patch of red on his jaw. Phil feels the urge to poke it, just as he always does with the dimple that forms above it, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t think his lungs could survive a round two if Dan takes it as anything but fond admiration, so he just stares at it instead while Dan looks up through the gap in the wooden planks overhead. 

“When the ghosts come for us tonight I’m telling them to take you first,” Phil says softly, the fondness he feels in his chest seeping into every word. 

Dan huffs out a laugh. “You’re such a gentleman.” 

“Thank you, I try.” Phil smiles, tearing his eyes away from the side of Dan’s face to look up at the stars as well. 

The view isn’t as breathtaking, but Phil’s lungs really could use a break. 

“I had a bit of a meltdown,” Phil says to the stars. “Well, maybe more than a bit,” he adds with a small laugh. 

It’s been quiet between the two of them for a while now, eyes drooping as they catch their breath with their eyes on the stars above. Their only communication found in short glances and the small wines and huffs of protest as they eventually roll over to fix their sleeping bags so they can slide in before they accidentally nod off in the absolute mess they made of them in the impromptu tickle fight. 

The twinkling stars are blurrier now, and Phil isn’t sure if it’s because he took off his glasses or because his tired eyes are protesting his attempts to keep them open. It’s probably both, he muses as he blinks a few times, thinking his words over in his head. 

“I think I don’t want to talk about it because it sounds so much more childish outside of my own head.” Phil sighs. “Quitting your job and leaving the country to go run off to pursue your passions is something you do when you’re like… twenty out of uni, not at my age with a decent job and all of my degrees.” 

“That doesn’t make it childish,” Dan interjects. Phil feels the nudge of Dan’s toe at his ankle through both of their sleeping bags. “I would use the word brave, personally.” 

It isn’t the first time Dan has rendered Phil speechless, but that doesn’t mean he’s getting used to it. 

“But what’s so bad about being childish, anyway?” Dan continues. There’s a shuffling of nylon and Phil turns his head to see Dan now resting on his side, looking at Phil with a furrowed brow. “Everyone called me that when I dumped law school to take over a horse ranch in a different country, and I don’t look back on my decision with regret at all. There’s nothing childish about wanting to be happy. Anyone who says otherwise is probably just jealous.”

Phil hums, folding his hands under his cheek as he shifts onto his side as well. 

Phil is happy here, and it’s getting increasingly impossible to ignore the thoughts in his head that are telling him exactly what he needs to do about it. 

“Hey Dan,” Phil breaks the quiet with his low, sleepy voice. It’s a bit rough and crackly, his early start finally catching up with him. “If a cowboy is your boyfriend, would you call him your cowboyfriend?”

“Wha-” Dan snorts, “-why do you want to know?” 

The corners of Phil’s lips tug up, his eyes never leaving the crack in the plywood above, twinkling stars peeking through. 

Phil shrugs, the sounds of nylon rubbing together as his shoulder brushes against Dan’s with the movement. He doesn’t know when they inched so close together. 

“Just curious.”

There’s a movement beside him, silence once again falling between them until the sound of a zipper fills Phil’s ears. He turns his head with a quirked brow, just in time to catch the hand Dan pulled out of his sleeping bag tugging at the zipper of his as well. Phil’s brow stays lifted, wondering what he’s up to as he blinks to make out the shy smile on Dan’s lips in the flickering glow of the fire. It’s dark, and blurry with his glasses in the grass next to him, but he can just barely make it out. 

Dan’s hand feels down Phil’s bicep, following the bend of his elbow where his arm is resting over his chest - hand splayed over his heart to compensate for the lack of the usual pillow he clutches to his chest in his sleep. 

The touch is burning hot, counteracting the cool breeze that hits his skin with the sleeping bag no longer zipped all the way up. There’s a gentle squeeze at Phil’s wrist, but it doesn’t linger, Dan sliding his hand over Phil’s. 

“Go to sleep Phil,” Dan says softly with a small huff of a laugh as he slips his fingers between Phil’s. His warm hand permeates all the way to Phil’s heart. 

Phil wakes to a tickle at his neck. He leans into it, sleepily tilting his chin and attempting to lift his shoulder to itch it, but even in the clouded state of his first waking moments he realizes something is preventing him from doing that. 

Something soft that also tickles against his jaw as there’s a huff of breath against his neck. 

“Mm, morning.” Dan’s voice is low and rough with sleep. Phil’s brain twists and turns as he becomes more awake, debating whether to fixate on the way Dan’s face is nuzzled into his neck or the way that husky voice makes him feel. 

There’s an arm slung around his chest as well, and Phil realizes the warm thing his hand is squeezed around is actually Dan’s hand. 

It’s not lost on him that they weren’t even technically sharing a bed and they still managed to wake up all wrapped around each other. As Phil blinks his eyes somewhat into focus - as much as he can without patting around the grass for his glasses, there’s no way in hell he’s moving out of Dan’s hold to find them - he huffs out a small laugh at the whole situation. 

Not because it’s absurd or unbelievable or anything like that, but because he’s happy. He’s laying in the damp morning grass in the middle of practically uninhabited Canadian wilderness with a man he met by chance less than a few months prior. And he’s happy. 

Daybreak has woken with them. Or well, with Phil, as he has no idea how long Dan has been awake. His mind wanders to the fact that Dan has been awake, actively choosing to not pull away from the position they’ve found themselves in in their sleep. 

The sun is just beginning to climb the sky, a golden-orange hue starting to wash the dim forest with its light. Birds are chirping from all directions around them and the gentle breeze that hits Phil’s face and exposed arm is chilled and refreshing. It would probably be cold under any other circumstances, it would probably make him shiver even if he were completely zipped up into his sleeping bag, but it only feels nice with the warm body wrapped around him. 

“Not much of a morning person, are you?” Dan hums - the nature around them so loud, Phil barely realizing he left the air quiet between them. 

Phil tilts his head down to see Dan’s already looking up, meeting his eyes. They’re sleepy, but as warm as he is, and Phil feels a full body buzz of _happy, happy, happy._ He wiggles around a bit until he gets his other arm out of his sleeping bag and immediately pulls Dan closer. Dan goes easily, his laugh vibrating against Phil’s chest as he presses his face into his neck. Phil traces small circles into the fabric of Dan’s shirt, feeling warm all around. 

Phil opens his mouth to respond, but nothing really comes out. He clears his throat and tries again. 

“I don’t exist before coffee,” Phil says in a hushed voice, rough with sleep as well. 

Dan laughs. “We can fix that.” 

“Mm,” Phil hums in protest, holding Dan tighter, “too comfortable.” 

“Me too.”

“Wait, Phil,” Dan says after a few more stolen minutes of comfortable quiet.

He pauses the light scratching of his fingers at the side of Phil’s head and Phil whines at the loss of it, nearly on his way to falling back asleep with the touch. 

“Shh,” Dan hushes him, taking his hand away to press his palm flat to the grass beside Phil’s head. “Do you feel that?” he whispers. 

“Feel what?” Phil can feel the hum of Dan’s words, the rise and fall of his chest, the thrum of his heartbeat, but he doesn’t know what Dan’s talking about. 

But then the thrum of Dan’s heartbeat gets stronger, faster. Phil can feel it throughout his entire body. 

“Dan, are you o-”

“It’s the horses.” Dan whispers the words before pushing himself up off the ground in a rush, dislodging Phil’s arms only to come back for them to tug Phil up as well. With a large, warm hand wrapped around Phil’s wrist, Dan places his hand flat on the ground. 

There’s something wild in Dan’s eyes as they bore into Phil’s, the look like a jolt of adrenaline straight to the heart. Who needs caffeine anyway? 

No longer lying flat on the ground, without Dan’s body pressed up against him, Phil can distinguish that the thrumming he was feeling was not at all Dan’s heart. Which is probably a good thing, Phil isn’t a doctor but that definitely didn’t feel like a normal heart beat to him. 

It’s in the ground, a repetitive thrumming that almost vibrates underneath them. 

Phil meets Dan’s wild gaze with wonderment, suddenly far more eager to wiggle the rest of the way out of his sleeping bag and get up on his feet. 

Unbelievable doesn’t feel like enough. Magic might be the word, but Phil doesn’t think that’s what is in the air as he stands next to Dan looking out across the river. Cold stones under socked feet. Dan looping his pinky finger around Phil’s. The sunrise overhead. Two dozen or so wild horses grazing in the meadow just across the way. 

It took Phil’s breath away when they arrived - feeling the pounding of their hooves in the ground underfoot, awed as they all followed when one of them stopped - and he still doesn’t think he’s gotten it back. Even Phil, hopeless at best when it comes to horses, can tell it’s different. There’s something special about wild horses. And he’s seeing it with his own eyes. 

He’s seeing it on Dan’s face, when he takes the moment to glance to the side. Dan hasn’t said much, a hush falling between them the moment the herd ran through. Phil feels like if he breaks it, or even so much as breathes too heavily, the magic will slip away. So he doesn’t, they don’t need words in this moment. 

Dan’s lips are slightly parted, his eyes trained forward glisten in the rising sun, his curls an absolute mess from sleep pushed up off his forehead. He absently plays with Phil’s pinky finger as he watches the horses, and Phil feels a squeeze in his heart that he really, really does not want to have to come to terms with. 

But if Phil is being honest with himself - honesty, that pesky thing he’s been trying to do lately - he knows he’s so far past coming to terms with it. His feelings for Dan can’t be ignored. 

Maybe it’s Phil’s fault. Out of all of the things on Phil’s list of what he wasn’t running off to Canada to do, he never once thought of falling for a cowboy. It should've been penciled in as an addendum once he got here, right next to _ride a horse_ and _let a Daniel convince you to get two scoops of ice cream with your apple pie that one time, even when you know you’re incredibly lactose intolerant._

But he never did get around to those addenda, it seems. Funny how Phil managed to let that slip through the cracks. And now he has to decide if he’s going to slip through them as well. 

Scared would be the feeling, if Phil’s entire perception of fear hadn’t changed so much over a mere handful of weeks. But for now, for some reason, Phil just feels brave. 

Dan hums something softly about reigniting the fire and making coffee before squeezing Phil’s hand and leaving him by the riverbank. Phil’s brain becomes filled with little more than just _coffee, coffee, coffee_ as he watches the horses. When he feels the dull warmth of the fire on his back, he backs up and plops down on one of the logs by the fire, chasing the warmth but still facing out beyond the river. It’s too mesmerizing to turn away. 

Phil doesn’t even realize Dan is standing behind him until there’s a bundle of black fabric dropped into his lap. Phil looks down, then up, leaning back against the hands on his shoulders to smile at Dan and thank him. He only pulls away to pull the hoodie on, hugging around the soft material that envelops him once he does, though Dan steps away anyway. He’s not gone for long, joining Phil on the log with two metal cups in his hands. Their steam rises and disappears in the air, just like the mist rising from the river in front of them, and Phil takes the one handed to him graciously. 

Dan presses their thighs together as he sips his coffee, both hands wrapped around the warm mug, and Phil softly teases him for making the conscious decision to put his denim jacket back on while his legs are still bare - just his black Calvins between him and the wood. He gets a shove for that, along with a _you just don’t understand the lifestyle_ , and with the coffee coursing through their veins it becomes increasingly difficult to keep their quiet chuckles from disturbing the wild horses. 

The coffee is black, but it’s instant and Phil finds comfort in that small familiarity. It’s sweet as well, Dan responding to Phil’s quirked brow upon his first sip with a smirk - telling Phil he’s going to have to be the one to break the news to the horses that their handful of sugar cube treats were stirred into Phil’s coffee. 

Phil wonders just where the favoritism lies as he places a hand, now warmed from the side of his coffee cup, on Dan’s bare thigh. 

They sit like that for a while, sharing brief, hushed words as they sip their coffee. Eventually their cups run dry - or well, they get to those gross sludgy remnants at the bottom that Phil insists aren’t actually gross as Dan once again voices his distaste for instant coffee - and they both pull themselves up from the log. Dan rummages through his meticulously packed bags for breakfast while Phil all but shakes out his entire backpack to find the art supplies he’s looking for. 

Coexisting is nice, but this is more than that. 

Phil doesn’t mind the chill of the damp grass through his pajama bottoms as he sits with his lower back pressed against the log. As he flips to a fresh page in his watercolor pad, Dan returns to his spot on the log, setting down the coffee cup he rinsed out and filled with water in the grass next to Phil. 

“Thanks,” Phil hums, both of their voices still not rising above a whisper. It doesn’t feel right to be any louder. 

“Mhm.” Dan splays a hand out against Phil’s back and Phil leans into the touch. “Is it cool if I sit here?” he asks, leaning into Phil’s side as he looks over his shoulder. 

“Of course,” Phil says - mostly because he cannot fathom pulling away from Dan’s gentle touches. 

It’s a bit odd - working with someone pressed to his side, hands roaming across his back and resting on his shoulders, every stroke on paper being watched by more than just Phil - but that doesn’t mean Phil doesn’t like it. He likes it very much actually, even when a joke or hushed praise in his ear breaks up his flow more than a few times. 

Honestly, especially when Dan throws him off or messes him up, because he’s having fun with it. And that’s the entire point, isn’t it? 

“Hey,” Dan says low in Phil’s ear as Phil washes the green from his brush, “you see the little guy?” Dan nudges at his shoulder as he points at a spot by the base of the mountain. Phil follows it and squints until he can just make out the four small legs behind a much larger, sandy tan horse. 

“Oh!” Phil whispers. “Is that a baby?” he asks as he watches the horses, spotting an incredibly small snout peek out from under the bigger horse’s belly. 

“Mm,” Dan hums. “Probably only a few months.” 

“Not a pony,” Phil says, though his intonation makes it sound much more like a question. 

Dan laughs - Phil feeling the low sound hum at his back where Dan has now shifted with both of his arms across Phil’s shoulders, his head beside Phil’s with his chin on his arm that’s resting over Phil’s right shoulder. It’s definitely an odd position to be painting in, but Phil has never been the best about his posture, so he can’t be one to complain. 

“Not a pony,” Dan agrees. “A foal.” 

“I knew that,” Phil hums, absentmindedly swirling his brush into a new shade. 

Dan huffs. “Sure, Phil.” 

Both of their laughter causes Phil’s stroke against paper to go a big wonky and a few horses across the way lift their heads. But the horses don’t seem to care about their presence enough to leave, and Phil fixes his mistake with a bit more water as their voices finally start to elevate beyond hushed whispers, so not much damage is done. 

“For someone who doesn’t like horses, you’re really good at drawing them,” Dan says, still watching Phil paint over his shoulder. 

Phil hums as he adds detail to one of the horse’s manes. “I never said I didn’t like horses.” 

“I distinctly remember you saying exactly that. Multiple times,” Dan snorts. 

“I don’t know that man,” Phil mocks Dan’s accent, earning an unexpected nip at his earlobe. 

“ _Dan!”_ he squeaks, suddenly very confused at how the page in front of him isn’t just a big brown blob with the way he once again messes up a line. This time though, he fully drops his paintbrush and turns his head towards Dan. 

Which only serves to remind him just how close they are, Dan’s breath tickling at his nose as he tries to suppress his laugh. 

“What?” Dan asks innocently, making his eyes go big and wide. 

“You are-”

“A lovely person?”

“-horrible.” 

“Hm,” Dan hums, a shit-eating grin on his face as he lifts his eyebrows a few times. There are dimples poking into each of his cheeks and Phil feels compelled to stick a finger in one, so he does. Dan scrunches his nose as Phil pokes him, but his smile only grows wider. 

And he’s none the wiser for the smear of blue paint Phil’s index finger leaves in its wake. 

“I’ve had a lot of practice though,” Phil says once he pulls away, looking in the grass beside him for his lost brush. “They were absolute garbage when I first started sketching them.” 

“Are you saying that you’re not just a magical art wizard?” 

Phil chuckles. “Yeah, I wish.” He nods towards his bag in the grass, “Grab my sketchbook and look at the nightmare horses I drew when I first started coming to your place.” 

“Nightmare horses sound kind of cool,” Dan muses as he leans over to tug at the strap of Phil’s bag to bring it closer. 

Phil swirls his brush in his murky paint water, swishing away the few bits of grass stuck to it, and occupies himself with his painting so he doesn’t start to think twice about giving Dan free rein of his sketchbook. 

A quiet falls over them again. The chirping of birds overhead, huffing of horses on both sides of the river, the flick of a page every few minutes, and the occasional tapping of Phil’s brush against the side of the metal cup. Phil misses having Dan all wrapped around him, but he does make a lot of uninterrupted progress with the other man preoccupied with his sketchbook beside him. It’s peaceful, calm - Phil’s mind surprisingly clear, considering. 

“You know,” Dan says, the sound of Phil’s sketchbook closing shut accompanying his voice. “I like to keep to myself, but having you around this summer hasn’t been half bad.” 

Phil hums. “Yeah? Even if I'm an annoying city boy?” he asks as he turns back to look up at Dan. 

“Annoying, yeah,” Dan says with a bright smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with it. “But I think the country looks quite good on you,” Dan leans in towards Phil. “Even if you’re a little pink,” he says as he presses his thumb against Phil’s cheek. 

It could be sunburn, it could be blush. Phil isn’t keeping track. All he knows is that his face gets even warmer under the touch. 

“It is beautiful here,” Phil says once Dan has taken his thumb away, looking back out at the herd of wild horses. 

Dan hums in agreement. “You should see this meadow with a fresh blanket of snow in the winter.” 

“I bet it’s amazing. I love snow.” Phil knows he shouldn’t be fantasizing, but he’s been doing a lot of things he knows he shouldn’t be doing lately - what’s one more? “You’ll have to send me pictures,” he adds. 

“You should stick around to see it yourself,” Dan says. Then, he coughs, clearing his throat. “I- uh, mean like… you should think about coming back for a visit,” he corrects himself. “I make a great mulled wine.” 

“That would be nice,” Phil says. He sets down his brush and leans back fully, resting against Dan behind him as he looks straight ahead. Dan is quick to run a hand through his hair, and Phil lets out a content sigh, leaning further back into the touch. 

Phil doesn’t want to leave. He really does not want to leave. 

He’s been feeling it all summer, but the realization still hits him like a sharp slap to the face. He has a home and a job to go back to, thoughts of never letting his time here run out just aren’t rational. Phil doesn’t belong here, he belongs in London. In a real office cubicle where the walls are tangible, and not just a vague gesture in the direction of the tops of the surrounding mountains. That’s what he’s been telling himself all summer, at least. 

But as he looks out at the herd of wild horses beyond the river, as he tilts his head to look up to where the mountains meet the sky, feeling Dan’s steady breathing against him as he continues to run his fingers through Phil’s messy hair, something else hits him twice as hard. 

Phil doesn’t _actually_ have a job or a home to go back to, despite that being the biggest wall in his brain stopping him from thinking about a more permanent relocation. He has the spare room in his brother’s flat to crash in until he finds a new place and a dwindling amount of savings in his bank account to get him back home and keep him afloat until he finds a new job, but… he really doesn’t have anything tying him to London. The only thing his mind desperately scrambles to provide is his parents, but he can’t seem to find a difference between the flight from London to the Isle of Man and a flight from here to there. What’s the addition of a few hours anyway? 

Actually not going back. Acting on that thought would make Phil more out of his mind than he was when he decided to run away to Canada in the first place, wouldn’t it? 

He can’t help but think that this place is more of an answer than an escape. And he’s not so sure if he’s ready to come to terms with that yet, so instead of analyzing the stark lack of fear in his chest at the thought, he tunes in and out of the story Dan has started to tell him instead. He listens and laughs at all the right times as Dan animatedly recalls the first time his grandmother took him fishing on the very river in front of them. 

Apparently little Dan cried for three hours after finding out they don’t usually let the fish they catch go free back into the water. Phil feels like he could cry as well. 

As Phil tilts his head back to look up at Dan, he muses over the thought that not even the strongest of forces could drag him away. He thinks Dan knows it, too, with the knowing look he gives him as he doesn’t miss a beat of his story. 

It remains unspoken, but it doesn’t go unrecognized. 

Even Phil can tell that Dan’s horse is restless. He watches Dan out of the corner of his eye as they ride, the other man looking much less relaxed than Phil has ever seen him on the back of a horse as he holds tight to his reins. 

Phil feels it too, though the sun isn’t as hot on their skin as it was the previous day, he is far more exhausted than when they first set out. That doesn’t mean he’s no less happy, though. No, he can’t quite seem to wipe the smile off of his face. He enjoys every second he spends with Dan, and something has definitely shifted between the two of them. Something Phil can no longer ignore. 

Something he doesn’t want to ignore. 

He doesn’t want this weekend, or the summer, to end. So Phil cherishes every moment he gets to be by Dan’s side, joking and playing I Spy and pointing out every damn bird that passes overhead - mostly because he thinks Dan is cute when he turns his head towards Phil and dramatically rolls his eyes. 

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t dreaming of the nice shower - maybe even a hot bath to soothe his screaming leg muscles - that waits at the finish line of their trip. A finish line that might not necessarily mean an ending. 

So he empathizes with Cap as he huffs and snorts around Dan’s reining. They all definitely feel it. 

“Hey,” Dan says. This time it’s directed towards Phil after a string of _whoa_ ’s and _take it easy'_ s said in a deep, low voice to his horse. “Do you want to try something fun?” 

Dan stops his horse and Phil follows. He looks at Dan in question, semi-concerned wide eyes and a quirked brow. 

Dan laughs, then looks ahead, pointing towards the thick line of trees in the distance. “Just past those trees is the ranch, I usually let him run. He’s really anxious to run,” he chuckles again, his point emphasized by the loud huff Cap lets out. 

Phil isn’t quite sure what Dan is getting at, not until he looks back at Phil and wraps his hand around his saddle horn. 

“You can say no-” 

“No,” Phil says, talking over him. 

“-But I’m going to let him run,” Dan finishes. He shakes his head with a smile. “Okay. I’ll wait for you right at the trees, alright? Moon won’t steer you wrong.” 

Phil’s brain takes a second to catch up. He is absolutely not letting Dan leave him. 

“No.”

“I know,” Dan says, “you said that.” 

Phil shakes his head. “No, I mean. No, you’re not going to leave me alone on this horse.” 

“Aw, come on. I don’t think he’s going to take no for an answer much longer,” Dan pleads, patting at Cap’s neck. 

Phil is going to regret this. He’s really going to regret this. 

“You were going to ask me to run with you, right?” 

Dan bites his lip. Phil watches it intently. 

“Yeah,” Dan breathes. “I was.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

Phil nods once. “Okay. Show me how.” 

And Dan does. With his knuckles once again nearly going white with his grip on the saddle horn, Phil repeats everything Dan said to him over and over in his head as Dan asks if he’s ready. 

He knows how to go, he knows how to stop, he thinks he knows how to stay on. 

Phil nods his head, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready. 

In a flash, with a joyous hoot from Dan and a whinny from his horse, Dan is off. And so is Phil. 

It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Phil is barely able to keep track of the brown flash that is Dan’s horse ahead of them as Moon gallops behind. Dan was right, Moon isn’t as fast as Cap. But that says nothing about Moon, and everything about Cap, as Phil doesn’t think he’s ever moved this fast before. 

He definitely has - in cars, planes, roller coasters, and so on - but this feels exponentially different. He doesn’t feel confined as they fly across the grass. He holds on tight, but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to fall. 

He’s enjoying it. He likes it. And he doesn’t even realize he’s letting out the same freeing cheers as Dan is up ahead until he sees that flash of brown hair move - Dan looking back over his shoulder at Phil with the widest smile he has ever seen on the other man. It’s only for a millisecond, but it etches itself so permanently into Phil’s mind. Into Phil’s heart. 

Dan looks forward again, then he does something that Phil has to blink a few times to even believe he’s seeing correctly. 

Reins are forgotten, long arms stretched out completely at his sides as Dan tilts his head up towards the sky. Cap doesn’t stop running, and Dan doesn’t fall. 

He looks about as free as any man could be. Phil feels a similar feeling bloom in his chest. He clicks and urges Moon on, determination growing stronger as Moon manages to go faster - catching up to the absolutely unbelievable man and the horse he loves. 

Everyone is huffing by the time Phil catches up, Dan and Cap skidding to a halt only a few seconds before Phil pulls up on his own reins. Dan is leaning forward against his horse’s neck, saying something Phil can’t hear as he rubs at his neck. 

Dan sits straight up when he hears Phil pull up next to him, something wild in his eyes as he looks at Phil, his chest rising and falling at an accelerated rate. 

Maybe it’s the endorphins, maybe it’s the dizzying feeling from Phil’s increased breathing, but he doesn’t even register what’s happening until he feels another pair of lips on his own. Dan’s fist is clutching at the fabric of Phil’s tee shirt, both tugging Phil towards him and pushing himself against him in a way that Phil has no idea how neither of them are falling off of their horses. 

It’s messy and frantic and Phil’s pretty sure your teeth aren’t supposed to be so involved in a kiss, but it’s perfect. 

When Dan pulls away, not going very far as he keeps his grip on Phil’s shirt and rests his head against Phil’s forehead, Phil feels even dizzier than he was before. His heart is pounding, but now for a completely different reason. 

They catch their breath like that for a while, Dan barely in his saddle as he leans his weight against Phil, gripping on to him like he never wants to let go. 

Phil doesn’t want him to ever let go. 

“Sorry,” Dan whispers, more of a soft huff, between them. 

Phil shakes his head, his nose bumping Dan’s with their close proximity. His brain can’t quite slot words together into any formation that would make sense, so Phil instead presses forward, leaving a gentle, lingering kiss on that indented spot in Dan’s cheek that he’s so obsessed with. 

And then another on the other side for good measure, that one a bit more disrupted as Dan’s hearty laugh rattles more than just his own chest. 

“We really should be getting home,” Dan hums. 

Phil smiles, relishing in the way Dan’s forehead feels pressed against his own before it’s pulled away. “Lead the way.” 

They ride through the trees at a leisurely pace. It’s quite the sight. The chestnut Thoroughbred and his black and white Paint friend putting up with their riders’ nonsense like the good boys they are. There’s little contention as they walk side by side, closer than they have the entire trip - Phil no longer following as his knee occasionally knocks against Dan’s, their hands interlocked between them. 

It turns out riding a horse with only one hand on the reins without the other on the saddle horn isn’t as scary as Phil thought it would be. 

As they part through the trees, the bright red barn comes into view. Dan’s ranch, his own slice of the word surrounded by nothing but acres and acres of beautiful fields. 

Phil drops Dan’s hand and pulls up on his reins with a hummed _whoa._ Dan follows suit after the smallest, cutest whine in the back of his throat at the loss of Phil’s hand. Phil feels the sound directly in his heart. They both look out at the ranch from the vantage of the top of the small hill they stopped on. 

Phil has basically spent his whole summer here, yet he still finds something new every time he surveys Dan’s ranch. He kind of loves it. 

Dan whistles. “Not too bad, if I say so myself.” 

“Cocky,” Phil quips. Then, a lightbulb. 

Phil laughs to himself before opening his mouth again. “Have you ever thought about getting chickens?” 

Dan snorts. “And sheep and cattle,” he replies. “I sure have the land, but I don’t really have the time or hands to keep track of more than the horses.” 

Phil hums. It’s incredibly hard to keep the smirk off of his face. “I’ve always wanted a pet chicken.” 

“What are you saying, Lester?” 

“I’m not saying anything,” Phil says with a sly smile and a small shrug of his shoulders.

He looks over at the shed next to the big, red barn. It’s painted a similar color, but it’s a bit sun-bleached and chipped, clearly far down on Dan’s list of things to get fixed up. 

Phil looks back at Dan, this time he’s the one to hold tight to his saddle horn with one hand, leaning over to grip at the back of Dan’s head with the other. Dan makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat, but he hums into the kiss. It’s less messy and feverish this time, the two of them relaxing into the feeling of the other’s lips on their own. 

Phil pulls away and sits back up straight in his saddle. He turns his head completely back to the shed by the barn, fearing everything and nothing all at once. 

“Would that make a good chicken coop?” Phil nods towards it. 

“The old shed?” Dan asks, clearly breathless. “Yeah, I guess. She’d need some renovations, a new coat of paint…” 

Phil hums, finding himself thinking of the future with hope and excitement blossoming in his chest instead of resignation. 

“I’ve been told I’m pretty alright with a paint brush.” 

Dan huffs out an amused laugh from beside him. “You could say that.” 

Phil isn’t looking at Dan’s face, but that doesn’t mean he can’t see the exact expression on it. Warm, brown eyes crinkled at the corners with that big lopsided smirk stretched across his mouth. 

Phil smiles as he looks out at the barn, the fields all around it, the place he’s come to know so well over the long summer days and nights. His cheeks start to ache, but he can’t seem to wipe the grin off of his face. 

“I’ll race you to the barn?” Phil clicks his horse forward, looking back at Dan with a challenging smirk. 

“You’re on.” 

All Phil hears after that is Dan’s loud yah's and the thrumming of hooves against the ground. He’s only in front of Dan from his head start, but Phil absolutely lets it get to his head. He lets go of the saddle horn to put one of his arms out, embracing the warm summer breeze whipping by him as they gallop across the field. 

He has no reservations, he feels free. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's done! I could cry, I might cry I've loved writing this so much :( I wanna say biiiiiig thank you to all of you that read and enjoyed and a biiiiiiiig i love you to my biggest cheerleaders while writing this y'all know who you are <3  
> If you didn't catch on or notice the title of this is from Wild Horses by the Rolling Stones a true bop (even though i would hope this story is much happier than it lmao) 
> 
> Also can someone _please_ tell cowboy dan to put a goddamn helmet on phil's head before putting him on a horse i am Stressed Out
> 
> also also ppsssst look at [this incredible art](https://twitter.com/xythologic/status/1275176355995541506?s=20) and cry with me about it ! !


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